


For Your Sins

by islandgirl_246



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Human, BAMF Braeden, BAMF Erica, Dancer Stiles Stilinski, Douche bag Derek, Earth is barren, Evil Jennifer, Good Peter, M/M, Malia is adopted, POV Multiple, Steter-centred, Tags May Change, Whittemore Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take a society that loves gossip; add - one scandal, some wealth, lots of poverty and a situation where slavery is law; throw in - a beautiful dancer; an abusive lover and conflicted romantic feelings - shake, but don't stir, and this is what emerges. </p><p>OR... When Stiles is jilted and left without options, an unlikely benefactor surfaces with interesting results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Complicated Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this quite a while ago, and already have a few chapters writtten. Instead of writing the whole thing, I decided to try the feedback/comments route and see what happens. The first few chapters will give a feel for where I think it will head, although anything can happen when it comes to creative writing...  
> So here goes - my second experiment at fanfiction writing. Please feel free to comment, it helps.

Peter Hale was angry. It bled through every step he took, the clench of his cheeks and the dangerous set of his eyes. If it had been a physical thing it would have been a black stormy cloud a la thunder and lightning, circling his head. At his approach, and that of the two men at his either side, women and men alike scampered out of his way, and without pause he spared not one of them a glance. 

Peter was not a man to be trifled with when his mood was riled. The fact that he was one of the richest residents of Beacon Hills, New Capria, also helped pave the way. The ballroom was abuzz with anticipation of the scene to come.

Peter was beyond annoyed. Anything that drew him from his work and into the capital annoyed him. That it was his dear nephew this time was even more vexing and pushed his threshold beyond annoyance. 

The circumstances surrounding this particular call to arms was nothing short of fuse-blowing. His steps were purposeful and he tried to keep a lid on his temper, because he knew this ton lived for scandal and there was enough of one without his contribution to it. Thanks to his 'dear' nephew...

This was a hard society. They said Earth was worse, but somehow he doubted it and all his readings told him a lot of what was taught in society was vastly and freely edited to uphold Society's image as better than the barren wasteland that now was Earth. Earth was spoken of in whispers as "that place", but somehow "that place" was where Peter would rather be right now than cleaning up his nephew's mess. 

He had important business deals that hinged on the handling of this scandal. He was ruthless in his business dealings yes, but it could get you only so far it when the world you lived in traded in gossip like a living, breathing thing - the most valuable of commodities.

His eyes scanned the room for one individual and one individual alone, and like divine guidance the crowd parted to reveal him.

+++++

Stiles Stilinski's hand clutched at the glass flute like a lifeline as he watched his own ruin approach. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was the butt of every joke in town - pun fully intended - now he was in Peter's sights. The closer the elder Hale and family patriarch came, the harder he shook. Suddenly he felt someone press against his side, almost in comfort. The delightful smell that wafted up his nostrils told him without looking that it was Lydia, blessed Lydia to the rescue. But somehow he didn't think his best friend would be able to save him from what was coming and he was scared - weak kneed, spinelessly scared.

The captivating crystal cerulean eyes that held his doe-eyed brown ones were such that he was even scared to blink. Ever since Derek stood at the after show gathering and declared himself bored with Stiles - his paramour of six years - Stiles had known this was coming. Ruin was here, and not even his great reputation as one of New Capria's premier dancers could save him.

Word had reached him just this morning that Derek had abandoned New Capria for Heresea, the new happening place on the frontier, with his new acquisition, Jennifer Blake. Stiles had officially been cast off, leaving him circling the edges of ruin despite his illustrious career of 12 years. He wondered hopelessly if The Company would even keep him on now or if he was destined to follow the path of the other ruins, to the streets.

This was why he'd always hated the structure of this Society, Stiles thought bitterly. It was truly a case of the Haves and the Have Nots. Everyone else either existed to be owned or to flutter on the sidelines, hoping one of the Haves would be benefactor. Without an owner or a benefactor, a Caprian without a "name" could starve to death or be forced to sell oneself for bread. The Haves seldom worked, but earned the wealth from those they owned. Society called it structure, Stiles called it slavery with blinkers. Thoughts he kept to himself or shared only with those closest to him.

All thoughts instantly slammed to a halt as Peter drew up in front of him. The Ballroom went silent, waiting with bated breaths for the showdown. Stiles swallowed but tilted his head up, looking Peter dead in the eyes. If he was going to be embarrassed in front of these vultures, he'd be damned if they got the satisfaction to see him scurry or shattered to pieces before their eyes. He knew by tomorrow the Daily Reporter would have the full "story" with all its embellishments and lies anyway, but no one would say he slinked off in shame. He'd done nothing wrong.

"Stiles." His voice was just as Stiles remembered, edgy but with a timbre that still caused his stomach to clench. 

Something flickered in Peter's eyes before they went cold again as someone near inhaled audibly, perhaps reminding him of their very public circumstance. "Can we speak privately?"

Peter waved a hand in gesture to the hallway and one of the more private rooms beyond.

Unable to get his tongue to cooperate, Stiles merely nodded, and proceeded in the direction of privacy.

+++++++

Peter clenched his teeth as a gentle scent hit his nose. He recognised the smell, and was a bit taken aback that Stiles had worn it tonight.

He watched Stiles struggle to maintain his composure. Anyone watching would be amazed at his outward calm. Peter knew better. He knew Stiles was a breath away from panic and he would not allow him to become anymore of a spectacle for these people.

He quickly stepped forward and opened the door to one of the rooms, ushering Stiles inside with a gesture, turning to one of his accompanying associates for the first time to merely nod. His two associates knew what that sign meant. No one would get within several feet of the room. There would be no eavesdropping and no gossip emanating from this discussion.

Stiles turned and met his eyes, head raised in defiance once again and Peter almost smiled. This was the Stiles he knew and wanted to see before him. The shaking, anxious man on the edges of the ballroom tonight was a side that always angered him to see, especially when his 'dear nephew' was inevitably and always the cause.

Before he could open his mouth to reassure the younger man, Stiles said in a rush, "Are you here to cut me loose?"

He'd expected it, but it still hurt. He'd thought Stiles knew him better by now, or at least held him in some higher standing than he did his now former lover. Peter took a deep breath and cursed Derek to the high heavens once more.

"Why would you think that, Stiles? If I cast you off, you know what would happen. Your career, your apartment, your ability to provide for your family would vanish. Where would you go? Frankly I don't know if I should take offense at your assessment of me."

Peter watched Stiles' throat bob as he took a hasty sip of whatever concoction was in the glass still clutched like a lifeline in his hands.

"However, there is still the real issue of your 'ownership' and your upkeep." Peter grimaced at the use of the word. Lord he hated this Society and its 'structure'. Despite the fact that he was a nationally celebrated dancer, in the top 10 of planetary rankings, he was still the property of Derek Hale and therefore his earnings were those of the Hale family.

Peter had tried not to involve himself directly in his family's property issues, save for the overall management of the accounts. He hated everything about the ownership scheme put in place by the ruling Whittemore family. In fact, if Regent David Whittemore's right hand Chief Gerard Argent had his way, none of the earnings would even accrue to the possessed class of Society. By law, set before the current regime, and only changed by unanimous agreement from all the voting members of the Whittemore family, at least 10 per cent of a possession's earnings automatically belonged to the individual owned by the benefactor. It ensured even if there was a cruel owner in place, that the beneficiary did not starve to death, as occurred before the law was put in place. They still claimed this was more merciful than what occurred on Earth "before".

As he looked at Stiles, slightly less on edge than he was before, Peter knew he would never allow ruin to befall the young man. Not as long as he drew breath.

"I have a proposition..." he said, looking Stiles in the eyes.

+++++++

All Stiles heard was the word proposition. Whatever it was it suggested maybe the situation was not lost after all. But why? Why would Peter do this for him? What did he expect in return?

The more Peter laid out his plan for Stiles to continue residing in his penthouse apartment, to continue to have access to his driver Isaac and now with the addition of a guard Vernon Boyd, Stiles stomach began to turn itself into knots. He'd always viewed Peter as a bit of an oddity, but not in the way others did.

Others looked at Peter and wondered why he did not own a harem, like many others with his wealth and power did. In the brief conversations he's had with Peter over the years, Stiles knew Peter barely tolerated Society's structure. He'd also gotten the feeling over past years that Peter did not approve of the ownership agreement between himself and Derek, although the older man had never come out and said it directly. He always however made himself scarce whenever Derek was around Stiles. 

He had thought Peter did not approve of him until four years previously, when Peter had aided him in helping his own father, John Stilinski in buying the small lodgings he lived in with Stiles' mother and adopted sister Malia. It was not unheard of for lower caste members to own modest accommodations, paid for with the accumulation of their 10 per cent. The lodgings were required to not exceed a certain size and number of rooms (5). The eldest Stilinski's lodgings barely fell within the requirement. 

At the time Peter had walked in on an argument between Derek and Stiles who was trying to cajole Derek into helping his father make the claim to purchase the apartment. Derek was adamant, "Absolutely not." Stiles was in tears by the time Peter, whom neither had noticed entering the room, cleared his throat to announce his presence. He'd had business in the City and stopped by to see his nieces, Laura and Cora. He seldom interacted with Derek, as it always devolved into an argument.

"Mr. Hale," Stiles had barely managed trying to choke back the tears. "My apologies, sir. Please excuse me while I make myself presentable, sir." With a small bow, Stiles had hurried away.

"Do I even want to know?" Peter said as he watched Stiles' retreating back, one raised eyebrow to his nephew.

"It's really nothing. He gets too excited about silly things."

Peter knew that was untrue however. If there was one thing Stiles was not, it was easily excited about silly things. He was passionate about a great many things, but only Derek seemed to consistently reduce him to tears.

When Peter had got Stiles alone later that evening he had enquired about the argument. Stiles had been extremely reluctant to say, given that ownership among his caste of Society was tenuous at best. But Peter had listened, with a blank expression and had not tossed Stiles out on his ear as he fully expected for being impertinent enough to request his benefactor's aid in such a matter. Two days later his father had called him overjoyed to report that one of the Hale attorneys had visited the family and by the end of the week the purchase would be finalised. Stiles' father had thought Derek responsible and Stiles had not corrected his misconception of what transpired, not sure how or why the Hale patriarch would have done such for him or how to explain it to his father.

John was never a fan of Derek's, but since the purchase of their home, he had been a little more accepting of the younger Hale male. He'd also stopped objecting as strenuously to Stiles' relationship with him, knowing that he had little say in such happenings in Society anyway.

Stiles was brought back to the present abruptly, realising that the room was silent and Peter was clearly looking to him for a response of some kind. 

"But I can't stay in the penthouse. Derek made it clear before he left that I was to be out by the time he returned." He shook his head in confusion, a frown creasing his pale forehead.

"Then you will move in with me. My apartment is a little less flashy than Derek's but you will have your own wing of the house and my protection. And if you are amenable, I will make a formal application to the Council to allow you to continue with your life," Peter said quietly. "It of course means I will be your benefactor, but as far as I'm concerned that will simply be a formality. With Boyd by your side you should have no trouble."

"I don't understand, why would you do this?" Stiles asked, voice heavy with scepticism. 

"What's the alternative, Stiles?"

"That's not an answer, Peter." He said obstinately.

"Because I didn't want you out on the streets. Even if your father took you in, times would get tough for you all because what you get of your monthly allowance almost entirely goes to your father to help with your sister's needs."

Stiles' jaw dropped. Not even Derek knew where his money went. He kept that close to his chest because he knew Derek would object and try to make things difficult.

"So are we agreed?" Peter asked in a rush, voice all business.

The only answer to his question was a quick nod from Stiles. 

"Then it's settled. There will be people to help you move your possessions in the morning. Goodnight Stiles." Without waiting for a response Peter quickly inclined his chin in Stiles' direction and exited the room quietly.

Seconds after it closed Lydia rushed in. One look at his frozen stance had his friend rushing to his side. "Oh God, he's turned you out." She said in a rush. "Look Stiles, I've told you before, I'm sure I can talk my parents around to helping. You won't lose everything, I promise."

Stiles merely shook his head and swallowed, looking at his friend for the first time. "I'm moving in with Peter, Lydia. Peter's going to apply to be my benefactor."

For once, his friend was shocked into silence.


	2. Not What It Looks Like, More Than It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles settle into their new arrangement as both reflect on how they got to this point, with a few revealing looks at the dynamics of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, had this chapter written, was editing and a little something else happened....sigh. Sooooo, I'm not going to drag out the whole Peter/Stiles romance, I promise. I think the story calls for a different kind of dynamic and I'm letting it take you there. So the angst won't go on indefinitely to the end of the story as there are some fireworks about to land shortly.  
> Please let me know if the chapters are too long cause the next two are no shorter than this one.  
> Always, comments are brain food.

Living with Peter was illuminating. Stiles knew he was considered a very reserved and private man. There was no gossip in Society about Peter Hale because most people who would dare knew better than to try, and those who traded in gossip valued their reputations too much to come up again such a ruthless adversary. And ruthless he was.

The last Chief Editor of The Daily Reporter who hounded him daily with columns about a secret Hale liaison had simply vanished from Society. When reports began to appear in The Daily Reporter after Peter was repeatedly seen with one Erica Reyes, a young, platinum blond beauty with a sharp smile and even sharper tongue, it became known that Peter had appealed for a cease and desist from the chronicle. The reports however had doubled with a vengeance, and whispers were that Gerard was taking a swing at the Hales over a vote Peter had used his influence to sway against the Argent patriarch at the Council level. It was not news that the chronicle acted time and again as Gerard's mouthpiece when he was feeling particularly vicious - after all, it was owned by one of his close friends.

Within a fortnight of the original request from Peter, The Daily Reporter was under new management and Harris, the previous owner and Chief Editor, had simply "left town" under the cover of night, although some claimed his body had washed up on some far off lake. Since no one had seen the man after his departure from Society, no one knew which version was true. People stopped speculating about Peter.

That was however, before he took in his nephew's discarded lover and chattel. It was simply too juicy to ignore and with a show coming up in a few weeks, even the dancers at The Company were whispering about Stiles' new liaison. The looks he received were either pitying, puzzled or scornful, or a mixture of the three. When rehearsals had begun for the show just three days after Stiles big, very public change of residence, he'd hardly said more than was necessary to get through the practice sessions.

Since then however, with more interactions with Peter, he found he'd reached the end of his rope and was feeling quite defensive of Peter and people's opinion of the man. He was certainly not the vulture others were claiming. How could he be when he saved Stiles from ruin and had been nothing but a gentleman towards him since? How could he be when for years their interactions had revealed a man of intelligence and kindness?

Fears that Peter would expect some kind of physical show of appreciation for his gesture faded within weeks of Stiles moving in, since the man was hardly in the residence and even when he was Stiles was the one who had to seek him out to initiate any conversations. It was a little different now to their interactions before.

After he'd verified that Peter did not hate him for his relationship with Derek, Stiles found that whenever the man was in town and they spent time together, he had been eager to discuss any topic under the sun, and especially books, with the elder Hale. It was a love they both shared.

Now he felt like he had to try twice as hard to get Peter into a meaningful discussion - like the man was purposely locking himself away from Stiles. It was most puzzling.

+++++++

Peter looked up at the knock on the door of his study. Only one person knocked like that.

"It's open Stiles," he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips. This was becoming a habit of Stiles', to seek him out in the late evenings when he came in from rehearsals.

Before, Peter would have had dinner and returned to his office to either finish up work or simply catch up on readings. Lately, he'd found himself delaying dinner to eat with Stiles after the young dancer's rehearsals. He'd come to enjoy the company and of course the conversation of the bright young man was always stimulating, a development he'd discovered some years ago much to his delight and despair.

"Hey," Stiles figeted by the door. "Uh..."

"Is dinner ready?"

"Helen said in about 10 minutes but I was wondering... Uhhh," he cut off with a sound of frustration.

Peter's brow furrowed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Why am I here, Peter?"

"Are we really back to this?"

"Because saving me from the streets is not answer enough. Because safeguarding my family and my sister's treatments for epilepsy are not enough. It doesn't explain why, and you refuse to give me a straight answer. Don't think I don't recognise that you misdirect the conversation each time I bring it up.

"Have you seen The Vulcan today? That gossip rag is calling me your mistress and suggesting that you are abusing your rank as a higher member of Society. They even had someone from the Council, 'an anonymous source', saying it has been brought to their attention and that when the interim acquisition papers were issued they did not expect we would continue cohabitation. Certainly you can see Argent all over this. Maybe it would be better for you if I moved out, Peter."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter gestured to the chair across the desk from him. "You're allowing this to rile you up, Stiles. Don't," he stated in a flat, business tone. It was one Stiles was beginning to understand he used when he did not want to show frustration or annoyance.

"Of course it's riling me up. They are painting you like some kind of ... of...some kind of dirty old man, and it's so far from the truth. I mean you haven't laid a single finger on me," he said, oblivious to the effect his words were having on Peter. "If the Council gets involved then it becomes a bigger issue than it now is, Peter. And don't forget Derek is yet to sign the official documents relinquishing his official claim. What if he doesn't."

"Leave my nephew to me, Stiles. I've told you not to worry about this. I've promised you that you are safe here and you are. Nothing will change that... not the Council and certainly not Derek. Trust me on this."

"Even if that is true, you can see how this could damage your business, your company, Peter, and after everything you've done for me, I can't just sit back and allow it," Stiles stubbornly maintained, face pinched in concern.

As Stiles continued to argue for Peter's virtue, the older man found his eyes drawn to the flushed face, the pink lips that Stiles paused his tirade to lick ever so often and the rapid gesticulating hands that always showed the younger man's passion.

Those hands with their long fingers was the first thing he'd noticed on Stiles beyond the mole dotted skin, the first time he saw him perform. He had been mesmerised the first time he saw Stiles fly across a stage in a solo ballet performance. So much energy, so much passion, Peter was captivated. He'd seen three of his shows in the space of a month before word reached him that Stiles had become his nephew's paramour. He'd tried to stop himself going to the theatre after that. It lasted four weeks before he was at the next show, only this time Derek was there, in the family booth and inviting him backstage to meet his lover, and new acquisition.

Peter had tried to ignore the smug look on Derek's face as he'd introduced them. It was the first time Peter had known, without a doubt, that his nephew knew and probably had known when he sought Stiles out and made him his lover. It was the first time he'd really understood the lengths to which his nephew would go to hurt him. Of course he'd known. Peter seldom left his home at the edge of town to venture into the City, and here he was three times in one month to the ballet. It was as much a waving red flag as anything could be.

Only his tightly enforced self-control had prevented him from smashing his home office to bits that night. Instead he got drunk, for the first time since the death of his sister just more than a decade before.

The second time he'd met Stiles face-to-face, he was enjoying lunch after successful negotiations for the acquisition of a new company in the City when Derek, arm around Stiles' hips like a brand, had stepped up to his table with that infuriating smile on his face. He'd never wanted to hit anyone as much as he did Derek in that moment. Stiles had been mostly quiet throughout the forced lunch, after Derek seated himself at the table and launched into loud conversation for all around to hear. He couldn't very well cause a scene by asking him to leave. He was supposed to be Peter's beloved nephew after all.

It was only later, during a visit to the City, when Stiles came to see him that he realised Stiles had been fully aware of his angst towards his nephew and had incorrectly summed up the reason. He had thought that he, Stiles, was the problem. He'd almost had tears in his eyes when he'd told Peter he did not want to cause friction in the family and if Peter did not approve of the acquisition he would try to minimise Derek's forcing Stiles' presence on Peter. Peter's heart had almost beat its way out of his chest then. He'd found it difficult to speak, to even swallow as the young man, the only person he'd desired in more than 20 years, had looked at him, brown eyes in agony.

So Peter had done the only thing he could - he'd forced his feelings down and reassured the young man that Derek was a pompous ass and thus the only reason for Peter's ire. Their meetings after had been cordial and eventually over the last six years, even friendly, with the two even engaging in the occasional discussion and debate. Peter kept a tight rein on how often he came to the City or even interacted with the two as a couple, while keeping a distant eye on Stiles, whom he saw and engaged while Derek was otherwise occupied. He knew the moment the Derek believed he could no longer get under Peter's skin, Stiles was as good as gone and the consequences of that action would be solely Peter's fault, but he couldn't pretend to be happy to know that Stiles was in Derek's bed.

Peter brought himself sharply back to the present as Stiles continued to ramble on about the possible outcomes of his residing with Peter.

"Stiles! Stiles! Stop! Stop worrying. I'm not worried about Argent and his tactics. He wants to come after me, let him come. Besides, you should be catching cold sweats about your upcoming show, and the scene you complained was too complicated to get after three rehearsals, not about this," Peter sat back to see if as expected the mention of the show would derail Stiles' ADHD brain. It was sneaky but drastic action was required.

"Well thanks. Now I'm gonna be thinking that I'm going to fall on my face on stage. Thanks for the anxiety that I truly did not need, so much Peter." Stiles' face wrinkled in annoyance. It was the look Peter most loved on his face, other than when he danced. "Do you know what Scott did to me today at rehearsals?" And Stiles was off with his tales of rehearsals and his second best friend, the director's assistant, Scott McCall.

By the time Helen knocked on the door drawing them out to dinner, Stiles was well into details of the show. How the hell could Derek ever get tired of this? He was delightful and Peter, dammit, was beside himself in love with him!

+++++++

Stiles sat in front of his vanity, removing the last traces of make-up from the final rehearsal, but his thoughts were far from this space. He could perform this routine in his sleep, after pushing himself to get the tricky parts right. Right now his thoughts were on Peter.

The man was a damned paradox. He was one of the most caring and gentle people Stiles had ever met. He was also damn near the most ruthless as well. He knew Peter thought he didn't know why some of the whispers among the dance troupe had suddenly stopped. Like if anyone could miss the frightened glances the more despicable, gossiping, back-biting bitches among the troupe cast at his bodyguard each time Boyd appeared during rehearsals. It would be amusing if their fear of the consequences wasn't so damn frustrating.

Sure the lack of rumours was a relief that allowed him to concentrate on the show and focus his anxiety elsewhere, but damn now they were all afraid to offend him and that pissed him right off. He would rather fight with them and tell them where to shove their misguided whispers than have them continue to bitch behind his back and out of the realm of his hearing or Boyd's.

"You're going to take your nose off if you continue rubbing it so vigorously, you know," a voice said from the doorway of his dressing room.

Stiles startled, flailing and almost knocking the jars from the vanity. "Peter!?" He swung around in his seat, almost poking out an eye. "What's wrong?"

"Why must something be wrong for me to stop by?"

"Because you had a meeting with the Council this morning and I know you hate the City. So the only way you would still be here is if something happened... What happened?"

Peter released what sounded suspiciously to Stiles like a long-suffering sigh as he glanced at Boyd hovering in the corridor beyond. "Oh don't blame Boyd. He never told me a word. You're just not as stealthy as you'd like to think," Stiles admonished.

The older man's lips twitched in what on anyone else would have desolved into a grin. "Is that so?"

"Yup!" Stiles popped the 'p' for emphasis with raised eyebrows."It's bad news isn't it? What did they do? What did they say? They forbade the acquisition didn't they? Dammit, Argent swung the vote didn't he? That man would see you a pauper if he could you know, Peter? I've told you before you need to stop antagonising him at every turn, and don't think noone knows that today's column in The Daily Reporter has your influence all over it. I mean really? Rehashing the Kate Argent scandal? Really Peter?"

Before Stiles could babble on, Peter interrupted with narrowed, cool eyes, "Are you quite done?"

Stiles mouth snapped shut, and he swallowed audibly. For a second he'd forgotten the man in front of him was both reverred and feared by Society. Weeks of living together has lulled him into a familiarity he was now questioning.

Without aknowledging any of the accusations Stiles had thrown, Peter continued, "I was simply wondering about dinner?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed Stiles' face even as his tongue ran away with him before he could stop it. "As in you wanted to have dinner with me.... or am I dinner?" the question all but faded into a whisper, and for a moment something like hunger lighted Peter's eyes, before the man dropped his gaze and took a step back.

"I'll wait for you in the hall. Try not to dally." Peter abruptly turned and disappeared from the doorway, leaving a confused Stiles in his wake.

_What the ...?_ Stiles' brows furrowed and he saw Boyd cast an amused glance after Peter before the guard realised Stiles was now watching him in earnest and his face immediately went blank and inscrutible. _Interesting!_

+++++++

A murmur ran through the restaurant as Peter and Stiles were escorted to their seats. Peter paid it no attention and Stiles tried not to let his pale flesh blush to reveal his discomfort with being the centre of attention.

He was a dancer dammit, a famous one at that. Their attention should be nothing new. This should be nothing, but somehow it wasn't nothing. As the warmth of Peter's hand left his lower back and he scooted into the chair opposite the elder man, he was forced to acknowledge that it was definitely something. The what was still eluding him, but as he glanced surreptitiously over his menu at a seemingly oblivious Peter, he knew something was buzzing just under the surface here - had been for a while now. He tried not to let his hand shake as he raised the just-poured glass of water to his lips to take a sip.

Before he could even think of something to talk about, Peter began questioning him about rehearsals and Stiles grasped the topic like the lifeline it was. Within moments the rest of the restaurant crowd faded into the background. There was nothing and noone but the scintillating conversation at Table 4.

The two were so lost in animated discussion that the dark lone figure slinking into a booth at the back of the restaurant didn't even register, and why should it? He wasn't a popular or familiar face, so he slid under the radar - after all, all eyes were on Table 4, and so were his. He'd have lots to report back to his employer, if that reddening tint in the dancer's complexion and the focussed gaze of Hale meant what he thought it did.

The dancer was doing good! Very good! Better than they'd hoped.

The stranger smirked, satisfied. It was a smile so dark that the waitress who had stepped up to the table at that exact moment inhaled sharply and took an involuntary step back. The man cursed his lapse in awareness of his surroundings and softened the smile, turning on the charm that immediately saw the girl relaxing with a slight frown. She was no doubt asking herself if she'd felt, for that short moment, the alarm and danger skate across her spine or if it was just her tired imagination. It wouldn't be the first time she was too tired to assess a situation correctly. He recognised the moment she decided to toss off the concern and her smile returned, tired, but at full watt.


	3. Ducks Coming Home to Roost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets a summons; Lydia and Scott come to a realisation, and an unexpected gift leaves Stiles with questions, even as a hidden threat moves closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the relationships to add Scott and Lydia because of a little ditty I added to this chapter, as well as Jennifer and Derek. I still have no clue how many chapters are gonna be in this thing, but I'm thinking 10 and push comes to shove - about 15.  
> Btw, let me know if the flashback sequences - when and where they begin and end - are clear or if I need to do something to make them more discernable from the real time verse.  
> \------

Opening night had been a resounding success and each time Stiles opened the door to his dressing room on the nights that followed, a smile blossomed on his lips. Sitting on his desk was a vase full of lightly pink, fragrant Polyanthus jasmine - a gift from Peter on opening night .

The smell from the flowers was heavenly and served to always calm him before and on return from the stage. The plants had been known more on Earth than here on New Capria, and Stiles, for the life of him, could not get the older man to confess how and where he'd acquired them.

"They're a gift Stiles. Enjoy them," had been Peter's only concession.

Stiles had not missed the speculative glances as Peter had presented him with the vase backstage after that first show. Though the man's face had been as blank as it often is, his gaze on Stiles had been warm as he'd congratulated him on a flawless performance.

That night when Stiles returned home, he had opened his door to be met with the same warm fragrance of jasmine. There, beneath the window in his room was a potted, blooming jasmine plant, the same variety as the flowers on his vanity in the dressing room. Jasmine was Stiles' favourite scent. One he wore for the comfort it gave him, and also because of all of the anonymous gifts he'd received in his early days with The Company, the bottle of jasmine scented cologne was the only thing he kept.

He still remembered receiving it.

"What's this?" Lydia had queried, seeing the purple wrapped box among other gifts in his room at the end of a long season of performances. Stiles had only wanted to remove his make-up, and tights and head for his apartment to rest.

"What's what?" he'd asked tiredly not even looking at his friend, as the door opened behind them both to admit his second best bud, Scott.

"What's what ...what?" Scott said, dumbfounded.

Lydia shook her head and sighed, removing the purple paper. "This. It looks like a bottle of scent. Stiles, I don't think this is from New Capria. Look at the writing," Lydia had said in a rush, as Scott peered around her arm to see what she was holding. It was the note of excitement in her voice that caught Stiles' attention. Before he could even reach for the bottle, Lydia removed the cap and spritzed the air.

Scott sneezed, but the floral scent hit Stiles and staggered his steps at first. It was a floral scent that conjured thoughts of moonlit nights, followed by notes of cinnamon, spices, and musky undertone that shook all exhaustion from him. In that instant, he fell in love with the fragrance. The name on the bottle read Jasmin de Nuit, and the note merely said, "Congratulations on a stunning season" - no name, no hint of the sender. Research later showed it was indeed a unisex scent, but from early days on Earth, which meant this gift had likely cost the sender a pretty penny, perhap even a few thousand sheddons (New Capria's digital currency).

Scott was dazed. His eyebrows darted up at Stiles. It was clearly an expensive gift. "Who do you think sent it?"

Stiles knew right away the gift was not from Derek. In fact they all knew Derek would never shell out that much for a contraband fragrance, let alone for his chattel.

The Jasmin became his go-to scent whenever he was feeling stressed or wanted a boost of confidence. Imagine his surprise to find that jasmine was the flower Peter chose to celebrate his success. He was not sure what it meant. Was scared to even think what it could mean. He'd had the perfume for five years, using it sparingly and never in Derek's presence.

Stiles knew only the fact that Peter had retired for the night had stopped him seeking the man out to pester him with more questions about the jasmine plant in his room and the parfume. His previous exhaustion fled in the face of this thoughtful gift and he felt something in the region of his chest tighten in anticipation. This was his scent. His absolute favourite scent - and somehow Peter knew.

For the entire week he felt like he was floating on a cloud. His shows went well. The reviews were raving about his renewed vigor and even the slimy rag, The Vulcan questioned if his energy had anything to do with a certain elderly Hale. Every tabloid and gossip corner was talking about his glow. The only blemish on his mood was the conversation he'd yet to have with Peter, but he now knew, based on the fact that he'd yet to catch him alone or not buried in work of some kind and therefore too busy to talk, that Peter was avoiding him. He was sick to hell of hearing, "Not now, Stiles", and truth be told a little worried about what the sudden late night meetings and long hours at the office meant.

On a brighter note, by the end of the month of shows, a few of the dancers, the ones he would allow even within a foot of himself personally, had begun freely conversing with him again - even though a few of them still gave Boyd wide berth. Stiles felt like things were almost falling into place again.

So of course, this would be when it would all go to hell.

+++++++

Derek crumpled the missive in his fist wanting to smash something, anything.

"How dare he?!" he screamed to the empty room.

He'd been purposely avoiding the NewComs. The video phone, the microwave phone, the televisory, even his latest NewWrist digital he had switched off so he would be incommunicado. Although, truth be told, it had been Jennifer's idea. She'd wanted him all to herself and she was an insatiable wench. He'd gotten well used to her exquisite hands and mouth by now and was enjoying every second of it - made all the sweeter by the thought that his beloved uncle would no doubt be sweating bullets trying to clean up the mess of Stiles' eviction from the apartment and the resulting scandal.

So imagine his surprise to receive the old fashioned communique - digitally written - alerting him that his Uncle had applied to the Council for Stiles, and was asking him to sign the appropriate release documents. _Who the hell did he think he was? Stiles was his! His to do with as he pleased and if he wanted to throw him into the streets he'd be damned if he'd not be allowed to do so!_

Jennifer walked into the breakfast room where he stood, a whispy shawl-like covering barely hiding her more than ample assets. Naked beneath the garment.

"What is it, darling?"

"My Uncle is demanding I sign over Stiles to him."

A flash of anger coloured her face before it smoothed out and the brows lowered with worry and her voice took on a cajoling cadence. "But honey, isn't that what you wanted? To get rid of that clingy slut?"

"He's mine! Not Peter's, not anyone's but MINE!"

Her hands immediately fell to her sides as her nostrils flared. "And what does that make me, Derek?" Her voice no longer sugar, but tinged with vinegar. "You'd choose that bitch over me? I thought he meant nothing to you?"

Derek cringed in the face of Jennifer's anger. He couldn't explain what Stiles meant to him. In fact, for a while he'd forgotten the card that he held over his uncle with Stiles at his side. In the last two years Peter had seemed more and more immune to his antics, lifting that damned brow at him like he was some kind of child still to be scolded. Added to that fact was Stiles' seeming captivation over time with his uncle, even defending one of his actions to Derek. While Derek had not shown it then, it was the last straw.

Now his uncle wanted to take Stiles away from him and he'd be damned if he'd allow it. It was time for plotting, but he had to handle Jennifer delicately. As an acquisition from the highest echelons of the upper class in Society, it would be a mistake to cross her. Even as a beneficiary she was known in society for her connections, which was extremely rare of chattel. But she was considered the Queen Bee of gossip, a trade that also served her well, and therefore she was a darling in Society. One mistep and this could spin out off control quickly - and not in his favour.

"Sweetheart, of course you are dear to me. But you must understand, Stiles is my chattel. If I show weakness in this, it will be like showing my inability to handle my own business and by extension the family business. Also Stiles' profession means his wages are considerable to me, as they should be. With my uncle's strangle-hold on the company, Stiles is my ... our income away from that. If Peter should someday lose control of the company, at least I'd have a safety net. Surely you understand," he smiled conspiratorily, moving into her space and easing an arm around her stiff waist.

Jennifer's eyes narrowed as if she was trying to determine how much of this was bullshit, simply Derek thinking on his feet. So he did what he did best. He kissed her, easing his tongue between those lips as his hands shifted lower to explore her offerings. He knew she would not be placated by this, but it would buy him some time.

He needed to get back to Capria, like yesterday. But for now, her wandering hands were diverting all thought to his hardening nether regions.

+++++++

Scott walked into Lydia's office. She was expecting him. Swatches of cloths were laid across the extensive stretch of tables in front of her and she barely paused to acknowledge him with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not done, Scott. I've barely only started choosing fabrics. Tell Finstock if he doesn't stop breathing down my neck about next month's interludes that I will personally remove his testicles with my scissors."

Scott flinched and squinted. It was an imagery he could do without. "That's ok, Lydia. Finstock didn't send me. I just came to see what you've come up with so far."

At that, Lydia paused. She gave him one of those piercing glares that caused most people to either begin fidgeting or had them blabbering away, and Scott was the least immune to her brand of pressure. Her eyebrow slowly lifted in his direction.

"What I mean is that as the director's assistant, it falls to me to make sure these things are done. I mean you know how Finstock is, and when he blows a gasket I get caught in the blast... I'm...I'm just trying to be proactive, you know... These costumes for next month's interludes could make or break the additions to the show... I mean you know how important it us for us to keep people coming back with the new additions to the season's showings..."

"Scooooooott?" Lydia dragged his name and Scott fought the urge to cringe. "Spill."

"I'm worried about Stiles," he spilled. Lydia's raised brow dropped as she frowned at their friend.

They'd all become fast friends when The Company had hired Stiles as the new premier danseur. His skill could not be ignored, young as he was then, still legally under the ownership of his father benefactor at the time. It was still considered a shame that his father's benefactor had never been a particularly caring man, more prone to his invention than to caring about the chattels he owned, even one was skilled as Stiles.

Stiles' addition to the City's main company's cast had renewed the ton's interest in fine dancing and continued to ensure the seats were more than adequately allocated. The then 16-year-old's wit caught Scott's attention, his intelligence and determination caught Lydia's. By the end of his first season they were like glue, despite the differences in status - Stiles and Scott being beneficiaries. Anyone who tried to test that fact answered to Miss Lydia Martin, chief love interest to the crown prince Jackson Whittemore. It was only her strong personality that allowed her to continue working such a seemingly common job - official costumer to The Company.

Lydia had a mass of minions to do her sewing, but she selected every swatch of cloth and designed every outfit that graced the stage and had done so for the last eight years, despite her youth, just two years older than her two male friends. It was that steel of will that now straightened her spine and had her looking in askance at Scott.

"He's falling for him you know... Hale. He's gonna get hurt Lyds. There's no way Peter Hale will ever feel the same way and what will happen when he turns him out?"

"You're being an idiot now, Scott." Lydia flipped her red tresses before continuing calmly. "Why would Peter turn him out. And what if he is falling for Peter Hale, isn't time that he had a little bit of happiness in his life? Is it so surprising that he'd want that for himself?

"From the time we've known Stiles he has always been about looking after other people. Remember when you were sick and Finstock wanted to fire you and replace you with that buck-tooth cousin of Harris'. Remember the stink Stiles raised and how he rallied the rest of the troupe behind him. He still goes back to his father's house to see his family ever so often.

"And for the last six years he's suffered so at the hands of Derek Hale. It boggles the mind why the man would acquire him in the first place. I mean yes, Stiles' wages would be considerable to any benefactor, but certainly he did not think Stiles would just roll over and go along with every suggestion he made. Stiles has always been a fighter. Look, now it is simply Stiles' time for a little pampering and happiness and if that's coming at the hands of Peter Hale, maybe love isn't everything Scott."

Scott blushed, suddenly remembering the rumours about the crown prince's many love interests. He wondered how Lydia coped knowing that even though she was Prince Jackson's lady love, there were paramours aplenty in the Whittemore harem. Maybe for Lydia love wasn't everything, but did it have to be so clinical for everyone. It certainly wasn't for him.

"But if Peter doesn't love him, wouldn't he be better off under someone who won't hurt him? He seemed happy for a time with Derek."

"Pah!" Lydia all but spat at the suggestion.

She wouldn't be surprised if that priviledged bastard Derek Hale had been only using Stiles to torture his uncle. She'd admit that when Derek first showed interest in Stiles she was curious. He wasn't a fan of theatre and certainly not the ballet; but his uncle was, and the way he played Stiles up in front of Peter only convinced her that Derek was up to no good. She'd bet Peter was why he took an interest in Stiles, and it would come as no shock if Peter did harbour feelings for Stiles and had been from the start. But she kept these private thoughts secret. Scott was too much of a blabber mouth at some times. Squeeze him and he'd squeal, and if there was a blossoming romance, Stiles deserved to explore it on his own without pressure from his friends.

"Come on Scott, those puppy eyes of yours have to be good for something other that admiring Allison Argent from a distance."

Scott blushed. How could he not? His not-so-secret trysts with the youngest Argent was a source of pain for her father, but pure bliss for Scott. Legally they could not be together, but over the last two years, with the help of Lydia, Allison's dear friend, and Stiles, on Scott's end, they'd managed to begin quietly seeing each other. Anyone catching the longing looks between the two however, would immediately know what was obvious, however. He lived in hope Gerard would not catch wind of it.  
  
"What are you saying, Lydia?" Scott frowned.

"I'm saying the honeymoon with Derek wore off before the ink had even dried on the acquisition papers, and we both know it. No, I'll bet Derek had alterior motives and we may never know what those were."

"You think he was using Stiles for something else, perhaps his wages? Do you think he will fight his uncle's claim and maintain his ownership of Stiles, do you?"

Lydia's eyes took on a deadly slant as her red lips firmed. "Not if I have anything to say about it!"  
  
+++++++

"I think I'm in," the voice over the line stated.

"Are you sure? He doesn't suspect anything?" the gruff voice asked urgently.

"No, I've got him where I need him."

"We can't afford any mistakes this time. Kate almost did us in, and he was onto us before we could even regroup. She got careless and lost us our chance. Our associate has been observing from a distance and thinks we may have a chance if we move quickly, is this so?"

"I told you I'm in. Just let me work and we'll have our revenge. By the way, my fee has gone up. By the time this is done, I don't ever want to be owned by anyone ever again. Don't contact me, it could be dangers and if he finds out I'm out in the street. So I'll contact you. And tell your associate to stay back. We can't afford to tip our hand." The line cut sharply.

The man in the high chair behind the polished desk turned to his associate who was lounging in the dark corner. "What do you think?"

"I think a Plan B is always a good option. Peter Hale is smart. The moment he senses anything out of line, a single weakness, we are done for and he won't allow anyone to walk away whole this time."

"Then do what needs to be done, carefully."

With a nod the dark stranger slinked out of the room and away from the lavish furnishings.


	4. Lost Time and Painful Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's back and suddenly nothing seems to be going right for Peter. And just when he's had it, he's cornered by Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter will be Peter and Stiles, but we get a glimpse of Erica's character here too and find out exactly who she is in this verse. But yeah, Derek's back too...
> 
> More notes at the end this time...

Peter glanced up sharply when the folder was smacked onto his desk. Blue eyes clashed with light brown and a pair of severely annoyed eyebrows. Peter laid his pen down and sighed. "What now, Erica?"

"The stock prices have gone up. As of this morning, the shares are almost 9 sheddons a piece," she said in a rush, looking like she was ready to rip limb from limb, whomever was responsible.

"That doesn't make sense. The company's valuable but that price is ridiculous. How does a company, solid until a couple days ago suddenly skyrocket in price in two months. Our side hasn't said anything, and I'm sure Reddock has been keeping a lid on things, because he needs this deal to go through just as badly as I want it to, what are we missing, Erica?"

He'd brought Erica on as his private consultant, strategist and chief business investigator three years ago and had not regretted it. To look at, most people mistook her for a prostitute or at least a highly paid call girl. And she used to be, before Peter had paid personally and handsomely for her freedom from her previous benefactor. A fact that very few were privy to. Most still believed her to be his private mistress, a fact that Erica had no problem in perpetrating. It served their purposes just well.

The price for her had been steep, and lots of negotiating and blackmail had pushed the deal to its inevitable conclusion with her benefactor; but she'd more than earned what he'd paid and the salary he now paid to keep her close to his deals. His absolute abhorrence of owning anyone had ensured he would not keep her in any capacity but a free paid employee, as were all his employees at the main headquarters. Stiles was his only exception to his own rule, for now.

"I've been tracing what's been driving up the stock, and it seems like people have been snapping them up. As far as I can tell it's no single corporation but a number of individuals that have suddenly become inexplicably interested in FreeComs' stock."

FreeComs was a small company of about eight years in the tele and viacoms market. What they had that most others didn't was young innovative, savvy tech heads who were all about exploring the impossible. They lacked the financial sustainability to explore the research and development they needed, which was where Hale Inc. came in.

Erica continued, "If we're not careful the Council's gonna get involved and words like insider trading are going to start being bandied about and once that hits Society the gossip will kill this deal in the water. I've got feelers out ..." At Peter's raised brows she added sassily, "I've told you before and I will tell you again, they are mostly legal and cannot be traced back to you. However, let me state for the record that they are good little sniffers and extremely resourceful, but so far nothing. It doesn't seem like Reddock is pulling a fast one to make us pay more, but I would suggest a meeting, and fast."

"I can't right now. The acquisition has hit a snag and I can't afford for that to fall through. Look I will promise to call James, but I can't do a meeting right now. In the meantime, stay on this and let me know if the stock climbs higher. It hits 10 sheddons and we are in a world of hurt here," he said with a frown. His first priority was Stiles, especially now that Derek had made it clear he was not going to go quietly into the night.

She looked at him quietly, eyes full of calculation before she tapped the file she'd dropped on his desk. "Read," and turned towards the door.

Peter rubbed his brow and looked up as she paused at the door. "I can have Derek taken care of, you know. You just have to say. You don't even need to ask."

Erica's loyalty to him was at times scary. She'd gotten closer to him than he usually let anyone. Peter himself was a man that knew how to get what he wanted done. Erica however, Erica was in a class all by herself, and it was dangerous on that side of civilisation. At his refusal to even dignify her comment with an answer, she snorted and closed the door with a bang.

++++++

Society was abuzz. The gossip was sooooo juicy they were practically choking on it. Bets were being laid in the clubs, the street walkers were making money off tidbits, however exaggerated or totally false they were. Any word of Derek Hale was a big seller right now.

Derek was back in town and if the wags were to be believed, it was with blood in his eyes and determination to reclaim his chattel that rumour had it, his uncle had misappropriated. Everyone was waiting with bated breath for the showdown, praying that it would be public enough to salivate over.

Stiles was sitting in the living room when Peter walked in the door. He was tired. He'd spent most of the day influencing the Council behind the scenes. He needed this transfer to go through. He'd promised Stiles and he'll be damned if he'd break his promise.

The object of his every thought glanced up from the book in his lap, whiskey eyes meeting blue. Instead of the normal smile that met him though, Stiles just stared, face serious. For the first time since they'd met, his silence made Peter nervous.

"Stiles?" What was intended as a greeting came out as a query.

"I think we need to talk." The six words every man dreads hearing.

"Ok. Come into the office."

Peter felt apprehensive. He had an idea what Stiles could want. Certainly news that his nephew was back had reached Stiles. There was no way the rumour mill had skipped him, if only to see his reaction. He just hoped Stiles had enough faith in him to know he wouldn't simply give up. Certainly Stiles trusted him, right? God, he hoped so. Anything else was too painful to consider.

As Peter loosened his tie and removed his jacket, draping it across the nearby sofa before moving to take his place behind his desk, Stiles leaned forward to place something on his desk. His breath caught in his throat and for a second he had trouble swallowing as he looked at the blossom and the bottle of perfume placed side by side before him. It was one of the flowers from the plant in Stiles' room.

"It was you, wasn't it?" The look in Stiles' eyes left him without the ability to deflect. For once, he was too tired to even try.

"Yes."

"I don't undertand, Peter?" Reaching out to run a long finger against the bottle, Stiles said softly, "This was five years ago. I've had this for five years. Why did you buy me this?"

The slide of fingers against the Jasmin bottle, shot heat instantly to Peter's groin as his eyes followed the movement, intrigued beyond himself and suddenly turned on beyond belief. "You know why."

Stiles' heart tap-danced in his chest and his breath caught. He tried to swallow but couldn't, so only a gasp escaped when he tried to speak. He sat there for long moments, eyes wide as Peter refused to divert his gaze.

"But...but that's impossible. You couldn't've... You never liked me. You avoided me. It was months after I met Derek before you even wanted to be in the same room with me."

Peter scrubbed his hands across his face, took a long inhale and let it out slowly. "It wasn't that I didn't want to be alone with you, Stiles. It was that I couldn't... be alone with you and I couldn't be in a room with you and him. Not until I got my feelings under control."

Stiles was sure Peter could hear the pitter-patter of his heart. He was sure he was about to have a heart attack, panic attack or anxiety attack, right here, right now. Peter liked him. Peter. Liked. Him! _He likes you_ , his mind screamed, as he tried to hold onto the thought, to focus on what that meant... and for five years, at least.

He seemed to be floundering because the next thing he knew Peter was in front of him, taking his hands and drawing him out of his chair. "Breathe, Stiles. Breathe."

"You like me." Stiles whispered numbly.

Peter snorted gently. That's when Stiles punched him in the shoulder. "You like me?!"

"Ouch!"

"And you never said anything!" Stiles' voice climbed by an octave as he punched Peter again. This time Peter grasped both fists, holding them tightly in his, with a soft, indulgent, fond smile on his face.  
  
"No, you don't get to look at me like that. You don't..." A sob escaped Stiles suddenly that threw Peter for a loop as the young man burrowed his face into his chest to stiffle a second sob. "All...this...time... So...much...time..."

"Oh God, please don't. Hush, my love. Please." He pressed a kiss to Stiles' temple, arms instantly encircling the younger man as he tried to bring himself under control. Peter suddenly felt like the world's biggest ass. Here he was, all along thinking he had to treat this with kid gloves; that he had to tell Stiles at exactly the right time, and guage his reaction just so, and ensure that everything lined up, when really all it had truly been was a waste of time, and tremendous pain for them both.

It was several moments before the sobs eased into shaky breaths and then evened out. "Are you okay, love?" It was amazing how easy that word suddenly seemed, 'love'.

Stiles just inhaled, seeming to breathe him in, and he rubbed the dancer's back affectionately.

"How much does Derek know?" Stiles asked without raising his head from Peter's chest.

Peter took a while to respond. Sometimes he forgot how intelligent Stiles was. Of course he would put it all together. "I can't say for sure, but I'd guess, all of it."

"Of course. It explains so much." Raising his head to look Peter in the eyes, he added softly, "You're the reason he wanted me, aren't you?"

Silence again. Then, "Yes. I think so."

"Jesus! Six years Peter. I was with him for six years. Six years." Stiles all but yelled at him, suddenly going from passive kitten to angry cub.

Peter was starting to get whiplash from the constantly shifting emotions. "You think I don't know that? That for one second it escaped my attention just how fucking long it was? The thoughts I had every time I saw you together, knowing his hands were on you, knowing he was making love to you?"

"Then why the hell didn't you stop it. Why did you leave me with him, for six years?"

"Because I had no choice at first," Peter yelled back. Exhaling again to calm himself, he pleaded, "Please, Stiles. I had so much on my plate at the time. I was still building the company; we were suddenly making strides in the direction I needed it to go. I was safeguarding the future for my nieces and Derek, like my sister would have wanted me to. My first responsibility was to her and her children. The company would not have survived a scandal if I'd intervened in his acquisition of you. It would have ripped us apart and he knew that.

"So I spent those years making sure people understood and respected Hale Inc. and what it stands for. So they think twice before fucking with us in the future. I owed it to Talia to do that after everything that happened after her death. And yes, Stiles, I am sorry I couldn't claim you then, but I never thought anyone would've found out about you. Hell, even I wasn't sure what I was doing. It'd been so long since I'd even been interested in anyone, and then there you were. I didn't know how to do this, and you were too young for freedom then. There was no way for it all not to go up in flames if I had reacted when my nephew stood in front of me with you on his arm... You'll never know how very sorry I am, Stiles. I'm sorry."

Stiles reached up and curved a hand against his cheek. Peter nuzzled into it with a tired groan, almost a purr.

"Ok. Ok." Stiles muttered as Peter continued rubbing his face against his palm. "So what now?"

"Now?..." Peter reached out and hooked a hand gently behind Stiles head, tipping the man's head in his direction and claiming his lips with a moan as they slotted together, like long lost and dusty pieces of a near-forgotten puzzle... _finally_.

"Now we enjoy this," he mumbled into Stiles' mouth as he deepened the kiss.

++++++

His door smashed back on the hinges and head snapping up for the second time in two days, Peter found himself face to face with a spitting mad Erica, behind an equally irate Derek Hale.

"Will you call off your little pet?" Derek said nastily, with a sneer over his shoulder.

No doubt Erica had been on her way to see Peter with an update when she'd run into Derek. With a glance at Erica, Peter calmly replied, "Nephew, come in. I've been expecting you. It's ok, Erica."

The look Erica threw let him know in no uncertain terms that now more than ever the offer was definitely on the table. His look told her to go away and let him handle this, and only her respect for Peter and not causing a further scene led her to huff and close the door behind her.

"You can't have him. I won't let you have him," was Derek's opening declaration, chest puffed up and definitely Lord of the Land, at least to his mind.

"Is that so?" Peter smirked at his nephew with narrowed, cold eyes. "Why don't you sit, nephew. This could take a bit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the show down is next chapter, but lots of drama is still to unfold. The next update will be around the weekend. Tell me what you think. Thanks for reading.


	5. Revenge, Bitter Like Bile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Peter face off over who gets Stiles. Meanwhile, Stiles carelessly finds himself in a dangerous situation with devastating consequences.
> 
> PLEASE READ NOTES FOR TRIGGER WARNING!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had to change the tag because of an assault that is about to take place in this chapter. So if that is a trigger for you but you still want to read the showdown between Derek and Peter, you can read up to the end of the second break in the chapter and skip the third break onwards. I'll try to ensure you don't feel like there's a hole in the story, when I put up Chapter 6 if you have to skip the attack.  
> I'll try to have the next chapter up at midweek but I can't promise because work's been kinda hectic lately. Enjoy and feedback is brain food.

"You know you don't really want him, Derek. And you'd better think again if you believe I'm going to let him remain in your possession in the same capacity he once held. He has no interest in resuming your affair."

"I don't give a damn what Stiles wants," Derek said with a nasty chuckle. "The fact of the matter remains, Uncle Dearest, he - belongs - to - me, and I will not relinquish my interest. You will have to pry him from my cold dead fingers."

"Don't tempt me Derek. What could you possibly gain from this course you're on - trying to force your interest on him?"

"I thought that was abundantly clear, Uncle. It's simple really. If I have him, you can't. Does it need to be any clearer than that? You wanted him and you refused to act, so I did. Then when you realised he was gone you locked yourself away in that damn apartment and poured all your frustrations into rebuilding that house at the edge of the preserve while pining away over your loss - the fool that you are.

"I can recite all the ways I made him moan and scream my name while you were considering your next move, and I will have him again, I promise you. So, you will hand him over or I promise you, I will raise a stink, the likes of which this Society has yet to witness. I will ruin you if you keep him from me. Think it over, Uncle because my patience with this is running thin," Derek sneered rising to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket, as he tossed his gauntlet, sure his uncle was out of moves.

The smile he threw at his uncle as he turned to leave the room was frozen on his face moments later as Peter's laugh rang out. It wasn't quite a cackle, just a low mildly amused rumble that had Derek pausing in his stride to turn, brows drawing into a scowl at the bored expression on Peter's face.

"You're such a child, and you still think like a child, dear nephew." It was Peter's turn to raise a thick brow in askance. "What? You thought you'd walk in here, spout off a few trite threats and walk out with me quivering in my boots? Whatever intoxicant you've been inhaling, I suggest suspending it for the next while, because you'll be too busy deciphering your ass from your backbone by the time I'm done, and I'm only just getting started.

"You think I didn't put contingencies in place for just this precise situation? When I was, what was it you said, 'pining away over my loss'? From the time you took Stiles I knew you would tire of him eventually and you'd either toss him aside or sell him to the highest bidder. So I've kept tabs on you, dear nephew. I know all about the deal you've struck with Argent over the shares in Hale Inc. and I know none of it is legal. Not what you're already caught up in, and not what you have planned for the strip of real estate on Heresea.

"Does the chit you took with you even know why you chose to take her to that planet or did she assume it was just a romantic getaway?"

Derek's eyes bugged as his jaw clenched and his body went rigid. "No," he whispered, as his uncle laughed again. "You have no proof of anything. There is no proof of anything."

"Oh there's proof. I made sure of it. Test me, I dare you. I've been in business longer than you've been in trousers, boy. Your mistake is you underestimated me in your arrogance. But if you and Argent want a fight, I'm more than equal to the task, and I'm here and ready whenever you decide to put on your big boy pants.

"Now get out, and don't come back unless it's to hand over Stiles' papers."

Derek was seething. _How dare he?_ He spun angrily towards the door, brain already considering how he and his partners would deal with this new development.

"Oh, and by the way Derek, _my_ patience has already run thin with these games of yours and my grace has more than expired. You have until the end of the week."

The door slammed without a response.

Peter gazed at the closed door and it crossed his mind yet again to wonder just what had happened between them. How had he failed his nephew so spectacularly? His nephew, who, up until shortly after his sister's death, had been his all-time favourite Hale. They had been so close - camping, road trips, vacations together, conversations about anything under the sun. Where did it all go so wrong?

He was so sure after Talia's death and he became the children's legal guardian that he'd done everything to make them comfortable, to comfort and reassure them, yet the harder he had tried the further away Derek had drifted until they could barely tolerate being in the same room without an argument.

Surely it still could not be about the stock he refused to hand over to a barely 18-year-old youth some nine years ago. Their family had always come from money, so it couldn't be about the money. There had to be more that he was missing. He just didn't understand and deep down in the place where his family pride had resided all these years, that thought ate at him - that he still did not know what had fractured his family.

++++++  
  
Derek still recalled the day his sisters had spurned him in favour of their uncle.

When Kate Argent had targeted their mother in her mad scheme to truly become the only woman in their adulterous father's life and not just his mistress, instead of removing the family matriarch, she had killed them both. At the last minute their father had come between the bullet and his wife, but the irate Kate had ended both their lives, as the children had fled the house. They'd spent the night on the street, afraid and alone. And as the house on the edge of the preserve burnt to the ground, Derek had become protector, comforting his two sisters, despite Laura being older by a few hours.

By the time they were found by the Guardian Forces that Peter had scouring all of New Capria City for them, they were filthy, hungry, scared, and mentally scarred. He, Derek, had kept them safe and on the run, certain Kate was still after them. Even after they were found, for months after he represented comfort and safety for his sisters. He was "the man" in the family.

But slowly that changed. It started with Cora and the nightmares and soon she became a fixture in their uncle's room at night. Instead of Derek, her uncle became the only thing that would comfort her and chase the nightmares. Then Laura begun to seek him out for advice on her choices for university studies and about her interest in the company.

Derek's father had never much liked Peter, always convinced that given the chance he would have taken the company out from under Talia. Despite the fact that she'd made him COO and consulted him on all the large decisions, Peter had remained loyal to his sister, helping the company to grow and increase profits gradually. After her death when Derek watched his favourite uncle take over the company and then usurp his place in his own family, the resentment grew. His mind began to twist everything his once favourite uncle did, until everything was a conspiracy just as his father had said.

He was convinced when they hit 18 in a matter of months after Laura's final treachery, that he'd see the back of them all when he claimed his share of the company. Not so. Unknown to him, his mother had changed the share agreement, which meant they could not claim their shares without both Talia and Peter signing off. With Talia dead, that responsibility was left solely with Peter, who was convinced Derek just wasn't ready for the responsibility and told him so. So an 18-year-old Derek went from loving brother and sometimes recalcitrant nephew, to full out combative and resentful. The years and Peter's planetary success only made it worse.

And then came Stiles.

Having known his uncle so well for so long, Derek was the first to notice when his uncle's trips into the City changed. The company was headquartered one town over - a short 15 minute drive from Peter's home, but two hours from the capital, where Laura and Cora had reluctantly moved into a penthouse apartment with Derek to be closer to school and to try to maintain their family. Peter had moved back out of the City once he was convinced the girls would be safe with Derek.

When he'd heard his uncle and Laura talking about the ballet, something about the way his uncle spoke of the performances caught Derek's attention. He'd followed his uncle and it was soon all too clear what brought him to the City almost every weekend. It wasn't Derek's lovely but foolishly blind sisters. It was the lithe body of the main dancer in the ballet troupe, and thus began Derek's opportunity to edge his toe into the door of revenge.

He'd almost been salivating the night he took Stiles to his bed after he introduced him to his uncle. The thought of what it must have been doing to his uncle was like ambrosia on his tongue. Even Stiles had commented on the change in their love-making, Derek having been almost desperate in his move to claim him that night.

And even as he thought it, recalled it, a dark thought formed in his mind. He'd make them pay for his humiliation.

++++++

Derek was at the door? Why was Derek at the door?

Since Stiles had the day off from rehearsals, he'd likewise given Boyd the day off to go try his hand again at romancing Erica Reyes. That chick was scary, but Stiles liked her. There was a certain visciousness yet vitality to her that Stiles could appreciate. It had just been him and Helen at home, until about 20 minutes ago when Helen left for the market.

Now Derek was here and the door was already open and suddenly Stiles did not know what to do. Should he close the door and call Peter? Did this mean Derek was here to take him away? He knew Derek had not signed the relinquishing documents. Enough of the gossips had slipped that fact into conversation over the past week to see how he responded for him to know it was true. He however had not brought it up with Peter, afraid to burst the honeymoon bubble they had seemed to be in.

But now it was broken anyway because the devil was at the door.

"Hello Stiles. You look nice," Derek purred, pushing past him before he could do more than gape.

 _Stupid, just stupid opening the door without checking._ He'd thought it was Helen having forgot her key, again.

"What are you doing here, Derek? Peter's not home, but he should be soon," Stiles lied, hoping that his voice was steady, but not sure.

"Oh darling, I know exactly where Peter is. He and I just had a long chat about your relocation. Come sit down, your hovering is starting to give me a headache."

Stiles swallowed and perched on the edge of the couch, furtherest from Derek. "You saw Peter?"

"Yes. Just came from the company in fact. We had a lengthy talk about your arrangements. You understand I can't leave you here, don't you Stiles? What would Society think? We'd all be laughing stocks if this continued much longer, my dear." He got up and crossed the short space to place himself next to a now nervously vibrating Stiles.

"What do you mean? I'm living with Peter now, Derek," he managed to choke out, as his throat ached with angst as Derek's hand landed on his knee.

"But you're mine, darling. Certainly you know that," Derek responded, sliding a hand up his leg as Stiles pressed his knees together and tried to edge away. Derek's hand clenched tight, preventing him from moving, and trapping him between the arm of the couch.

"What are you doing, Derek?" The fear was evident in Stiles' voice now. As a not yet 'unshackled chattel' of Derek Hale, he could not legally resist. He was damn near literally trapped between a rock and a hard place here and a second away from a full blown panic attack.

"You know what I'm doing, Stiles. Don't be stupid. You belong to me. Or have you forgotten, living in these plush surroundings and whoring yourself out to my uncle?" Derek's hand shoved his way between his legs and Stiles gave up all pretense of not struggling, shoving at Derek.

The slap when it came stunned him momentarily, and Stiles fell back against the arm of the couch and in those few seconds Derek was on him.

His brain could not process what was happening. Oh God, surely Derek wouldn't. _Oh God, help me._ Stiles blinked and resumed his struggles as he heard a rip. The light cotton pants he had been wearing was being torn off his body and his eye stung, but he fought back as his hands were grasped roughly in an attempt to wrench them above his head.

He heard the scream and could not decide from where it was coming, but at the same time Derek suddenly released him. It was then he saw her. There, standing in the doorway, was Helen. Agast and terrified, but definitely very much there.

Anger contorted Derek's face and for a moment Stiles thought he would move to harm Helen, so he grabbed the nearby vase and crashed it onto Derek's shoulder. He'd been aiming for his head, but his arms ached and his aim was off.

Derek grunted and stumbled, almost falling. He glanced at Stiles steely and suddenly smirked as if he knew some big secret that Stiles didn't and that, even more than the attack had Stiles shaking in trepadation. But just as he thought Derek was gearing up for round two, the man simply smiled and walked out the still open door.

"Oh my God. Stiles, are you ok? Let me call Peter," Helen babbled, and as she made to grab the telephone a burst of energy brought Stiles to her side with a sharp, "No!"

"What?!"

"Please Helen, you can't say anything. One word and you know what Peter will do. The scandal would ruin the entire family and the girls at least don't deserve that. It would be a desecration of their mother's memory and Peter would never forgive himself for that."

"But Stiles, look at you. What would have happened if I hadn't come home just then? Your clothes, your face, my God that bastard. One look at these bruises and Peter will know something happened," Helen stated, pain and uncertainty in her voice.

"I'm a dancer, bruises are a part of my life. I can explain these easily enough. But if Peter hurts Derek over me it will destroy him - his name, the company, the family... and I'm starting to think that might just be what Derek wants.

"I'll be damned if I give him what he wants on a bruised and bloodied silver platter."

"I don't know, dear."

"I do. Trust me, Helen. Help me." The tearful plea seemed to do it. Helen touched his bruising jaw.

"Come let's take care of that cheek... Peter's going to be mighty mad when he finds out we kept this from him, and he will find out, you know he will."

"Let me worry about Peter."

++++++

By the time Peter got home that night Stiles was already in bed. While they made out occasionally, Peter absolutely refused to sleep with Stiles until he was free to make a "conscious and consenting choice" about the direction of their relationship. That meant no sex until Stiles had his freedom, and that they always spent the nights in separate rooms to dampen the temptation.

Sure it was an almost literal dash of cold water on both of them every time things got too heated, but it was a rule Peter refused to break for any reason. He glanced at his WristCom and as he raised his hand the screen lit up showing 10:47 p.m. Damn he was tired.

Shower, then bed - in that order. He'd make it up to Stiles tomorrow. He glanced at the centre table and there was a nudge at the back of his mind that there was something strange there, something was missing, but he could hardly focus. So he went off in the direction of his room.

++++++

When he walked into the kitchen next morning it was with surprise to find Stiles already there, scrolling through the day's news on his device, while a hologram of a talk show host hovered over the table. He was constantly amazed the lad could do so many things at once and not miss a beat.

A warm smile edged onto his face as he stepped further into the room and both Stiles and Helen sensed his presence and looked up from their respective posts. The sight of Stiles' face almost made him stumble in shock.

"What the hell happened?"

"I'm fine, Peter."

"That wasn't the quesiton, Stiles," he said in a deadly voice that brokered no argument.

"I'm a dancer, Peter, or did you forget. We occasionally get bruises and with my skin, I bruise more easily than most. Don't worry, what doesn't fade soon enough the make-up will cover."

Peter watched him for a while and Stiles' gut twisted. The game was up if Peter didn't believe him.

"This is worst than the bruised shin or the swollen ankle before that, or the last bruised chin from when you fell. You look like someone punched you in the face," Peter moved forward slowly, tilting Stiles' chin up to him and dropping a light kiss on his lips, all the while his eyes not leaving Stiles'.

It was then he realised Stiles was wearing his long sleeve wrapper, and wondered if there were more bruises he couldn't see, and just what it was that Stiles was not telling him.

++++++

The envelope that had landed on his desk late last evening had been pure gold. The photographs were crisp and clean. The fear and pain on the dancer's face and the glee on Derek's as he all but ripped the clothes off his ex-lover were worth thousands, if not more.

He smiled as he glanced up at his associate. "Plan B, huh?"

"Told you. It's always good to have back-up."

"Now it's time to throw the hornet's nest into this love fest. Tell her to make her move. She's close enough to do the real damage now, and the kicker is that Hale doesn't even know he's been blinded yet - neither of them do."


	6. The Price of Thy Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knows something is wrong and he's now sure Stiles has lied to him. Getting to the bottom of it seems like a damning indictment ... on Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez. I had every intention of updating midweek like normal and all I had to do was edit the chapter, which is shorter I think than the ones before, to make sure it flowed. But the devil decided to have a bit of fun with me and I had the work week from hell. I was too exhausted to even look at the damned thing until tonight. As a result I'm gonna try to get to the next chapters sooner and maybe treat you to midweek and then end of week updates, fingers crossed. Work is especially busy for me right now preparing for a couple of really important meetings. So hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments are brain food.
> 
> \----------------------

It'd only been two days, but it feels longer. There was a tension in the house that wasn't there before and Peter couldn't help feeling like he's missed something. Twice yesterday he'd touched Stiles casually and the young man had flinched and quickly tried to hide it. If he wasn't mistaken, he had also been avoiding their more intimate moments together and it was beginning to worry Peter, especially the sometimes spaced-out look in the man's eyes.

He hadn't asked again beyond that first time because he was now sure that Stiles had lied to him about what really happened to give him a black eye, and to caused the now slightly startled look he caught sometimes. There was only one thing he could think of that could put that look in Stiles' eyes, but for the life of him he could not think that Derek would hire someone to hurt Stiles, and surely he wouldn't be that foolish to touch what was Peter's; but it was enough for him to solicit Erica's stealth. He needed answers, now!

He'd certainly been expecting more of a fight from Derek before signing over the papers, but all had been quiet on that front. Too quiet. There was still a day or so left, but this silence was making him antsy. Argent hadn't made his move and neither had Derek, and to add more confusion to the puzzle, one of Erica's 'little birds' had warned her that Peter might be in danger. There were some whispers in the underground but nothing concrete. The feeling in his bones told him something was coming. He just prayed he could protect Stiles, if he hadn't already failed.

++++++

Stiles was a nervous wreck. He was a nervous wreck because only a day after lying deliberately to Peter about what really happened in his home, he'd had second thoughts. He just wanted to open himself and let it all fall out, but now he didn't know how, and the looks Peter kept giving him said the older man knew something was off.

It was starting to eat at his soul. Even worse than the attack itself was the fact that Peter had asked him and he'd lied. His stomach was in knots, his appetite was non-existent and he was a bundle of nerves that he could not even blame on his ADHD. He'd almost had a screaming match with Lydia when she saw his face and confronted him. Now because of the position he'd put Peter in by tying his hands over the whole Derek thing, his best friend was convinced that Peter had been violent with him, and how could he explain? Even Scott had looked scared. God what a mess!

The flowers this morning had been a last straw. He'd thought at first when one of the girls told him he had a floral delivery that maybe Peter was reaching out and this would give him his opportunity to break the strain between them, but the tulips on his desk would never have been sent by Peter. And the damned card had read, 'Thanks darling. We'll pick up where we left off, soon!' It had scared the beJesus out of him because even though the note was unsigned, only one person could've sent it. Clearly the fact that Peter had not come after him had no doubt let Derek know that Stiles had not spilled the bean. _Shit, could it get worse?_ And what did the hell did Derek mean, picking up where they left off? _What did he want?_ It was all now too much.

He needed to talk to Peter, he had to. Even as the thought flickered through his mind his stomach roiled and he rushed for the bathroom, bringing up what little Lydia had forced him to eat at break. They had three hours before the next scheduled rehearsal and he was a damn wreck. He couldn't even cry because he felt all wrung out. Peter, he needed to come clean to Peter.

But what would it mean for their relationship when this all came out. And shit, he'd even dragged Helen into the damn stupid cover-up. Peter would forgive a lot of things, but he was nervous just thinking about whether he'd gone too far this time. Didn't matter. It was time to face the music and let the chips fall where they may.

++++++

"Fuck!" Stiles jumped back as he opened his door to find Scott on the other side. "What are you doing, Scotty?"

"I ...ah... I wanted to see how you were doing," Scott said gently, eyes big and hands extended as if he was trying to settle a frightened deer or wounded animal.

"I'm fine, Scotty, but I have to go. I'll be back for the second half of rehearsals, but right now there's somewhere I need to be."

"You're not going to see him after what he did, are you?" Scott's voice now was harsh and raised.

Stiles glanced anxiously at where Boyd was at the end of the hall, then reached out and dragged his friend into the dressing room, shutting the door quickly. "What the hell are you talking about, Scott?"

"Look, I know Derek left you without options, but anything's got to be better than living with someone who's abusive."

Stiles reared back as if he'd been slapped. This time the breath that punched out of him was barely a whisper. "What are you talking about? Peter's not abusive." He had feared this and it was his own damn fault. Surely people weren't whispering about this. He'd only allowed Lydia to see it and Scott by accident as he was reapplying the make-up to hide the dark cheek and eye.

"Stiles, buddy. There's no way you're gonna convince me that bruise is from anything but a fist, and that 'bodyguard'," he said with a sneer, "has been walking around here trying to convince us that it's a dance injury?! Do you know he had the gall to ask me if I knew how you fell? How you fell, Stiles?!" His voice was raised again.

_So, this is where lying got you._ Peter clearly was not convinced if Boyd was asking around. Lydia had given him a disappointed glare; Scott was close to mutiny against the man he loved, and through it all Stiles was sitting here like an idiot, a mute idiot watching it unfold. He had to fix this.

"I promise you bud, Peter didn't do anything. I swear it wasn't Peter but I gotta go. We'll talk later. I promise" Stiles rushed to get his coat and leave the theatre.

Behind him the wheels of Scott's brain were turning and if Stiles had glanced back just once, he would have been concerned about the steely resolve that suddenly contorted his friend's face. He would have been very worried indeed.

++++++

Peter glanced at the images Erica had supplied when she'd cornered him earlier that afternoon looking nervous. It was very clear to him what was happening in the pictures, and he felt a burning rage rise to the surface, but a kind of anger that was so calm it scared even him.

"Who took these and where are the originals?" The calm in the tone scared Erica like nothing ever had.

"I don't know."

Peter's harsh gaze snapped to her with a force that was almost palpable. She would bet he was grinding his teeth behind the pinched lips. She would have done anything to have been able to keep these from him, but she couldn't justify it. Even going after Derek herself and removing the threat he represented to Peter, Stiles and Hale Inc., was not justification enough to keep something like this from Peter.

What really galled was the fact that she didn't know if this was the true extent of the photos of if there were more damning ones out there. But the fact that Stiles had not said a word, had not even warned Peter was what left her feeling unsettled. Peter had been antsy since the day before when he'd called her into his office. It had seemed an ordinary thing, until she stepped into the office and saw Boyd standing there. It was then Peter had told them about Stiles' suspicious bruise. He wanted to know what had happened.

The two had begun investigating and when Boyd's quiet questions at the theatre turned up nothing, Erica had put her 'birdies' to work. They'd struck pay dirt after a long day of stealthy operation when one had got hold of the photos. They'd been sent to The Vulcan, but their operative there had warned them and they'd immediately got a hacker into the system to copy the file and destroy the file. When the editors at the rag opened the file it would release a virus into the system, but that was only a short term solution that would no doubt be fixed in a matter of hours.

What concerned Erica was that they could not find the source of the photos, despite their hacker's considerable skill. The tale the photos told was damning. There was no question that this was an assault, and Erica's contacts had been able to distort the few that had been flooded onto a gossip site later that day so noone could tell who the people in the photos were. But the originals were still out there in someone's hands. Someone they were now convinced was playing some kind of dastardly game.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Find out who took these, who has the originals and what they intend to do with them beyond plastering them everywhere. I don't care what it costs, but if these turn up anywhere I want them taken care of." Peter's voice was galacial.

"And Derek?"

"Derek Hale is no longer your concern," he dropped the photos onto the desk and moved to return to his paper work. Erica knew this calm was Peter at his most dangerous.

"Whatever you do, Peter, you can't be tied to any accident he might have. You know that. I can handle..."

Peter raised his head slowly without uttering a word and Erica closed her mouth. Here was the man people feared. Here was the Peter that had freed her from her abusive owner and ensured the man would never hurt another woman.

Just then his intercom buzzed. "Yes?"

"Sir, Mr. Stilinski is here to see you?"

One eyebrow rose slowly. "Send him in."

Erica glanced at the door before her furrowed brows returned to Peter. "Give him a chance to explain, Peter."

"I did... And you have work to do."

"Peter..." she pleaded as the door opened admitting an unusually pale Stiles, flanked by a stony faced Boyd.

"Goodbye Erica." The flat tone brokered no argument and Erica knew better than to try. The eyes she turned on Stiles were almost pitying, and Stiles shivered as if a cold wind had chased its way up his spine.

One look at Peter's face and Stiles knew somehow his plan for full disclosure was too late. The man in front of him resembled the man he'd first been introduced to by Derek six years ago - hard exterior, blank expression. As he exhaled shakily, he reminded himself that that same cold Peter six years ago had already been in love with him. Maybe, just maybe that would be enough to save him from what was ahead.


	7. Chips on The Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to plead his case to a resistant Peter, as Argent receives the one call he was not banking on. With both Peter and Erica working to determine who's behind the pictures, it becomes evident there is more at play here than Derek simply wanting his ex-lover back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit to being a little bit nervous about this chapter. It has a heck of a lot going on. It's been sitting down for a while but I had to edit and change a few things around. I hope it explains why I had to have Stiles lie in the first place.  
> Alright, so, we get a glimpse behind the curtain that's been hinted about... the danger that lurks. Soon I will add some characters to the tags that I hesitated to add before now because it would've given everything away. (Rubs hands in glee.) Despite the fact that these characters sometimes having a mind of their own, it's shaping up better than I hoped.  
> I would really like some feedback on how you think it's progress.  
> Feedback is brain food and so much love.

"Argent, I'm running out of patience," a very unwanted voice purred down the line.

"What the hell do you think you're doing calling me here. I told you not to contact me directly," the elder Argent snarled at the man he was unwilling to admit scared him.

"You told me you would get me what I needed and I've been patient, but every moment you fail to deliver is a moment I am closer to calling in my chips. I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if this ' _project_ ' falls through..."

"I told you before, we are working on it," he whispered harshly, eyes closely monitoring his office door. "Pushing won't make things move any faster, and I resent the hell out of it. There's no need for the threats, especially as everything is falling into place." He knew it was a bluster and only prayed _he_ wouldn't call him on it.

"So you keep telling me, but my sources are saying differently."

Argent almost lost his wind as he felt panic start to crawl up his throat, willing his brain to think of a response. Before he could utter one, his manipulator reminded him: "If the upcoming vote on the project falls through, _Mr._ Argent, your current period of negotiation will be at an end. Do you understand?"

The caller did not even pause for a response, and Gerard was greeted by a vacant line. Damn, he needed to move faster and Derek was proving such a waste. The boy had no foresight. He would've cut him out if they didn't need his vote and what little influence he had to sway others. But still, not enough people trusted him as it was and this nonsense with the dancer did not make it any easier.

Just like that he was seething again about the distraction the dancer represented for the younger Hale. Maybe it was time to take a more direct approach. Sure this debacle was fodder for the gossip rags and he'd been making a pretty penny down in the holes through his little spy spreading as much gossip as she could, but the phone call was forcing him to change tactics. He couldn't afford to stand around any more. He wouldn't have minded so much if only Peter Hale was distracted by this Stiles character, but Derek had shown he too was enthralled and lacked concentration anytime the dancer was even so much as mentioned.

When Derek had returned to town and came to him about his plan to pay the boy a visit, Gerard had urged him against it. It's not that he didn't think Peter deserved everything he had coming to him, but it seemed too short-sighted a plan and the repercussions could be swift. Derek was their only in to the Hale Inc. board and if he antagonised Peter too much, the man would stop at nothing to bury his nephew. But Derek had not listened, and ever since that evening Argent had been waiting for the hammer to fall.

As he reached towards his phone, intended to check on his wayward ally, the phone rang, almost startling him again. Certainly _he_ wouldn't call back so soon with more threats?

"Hello?" Gerard said, tentatively.

"I think I've found something that might interest you. The dancer and the director's assistant just had a screaming match in the dressing room. Seems they are at odds over Peter Hale. I thought you might want to know."

"Tell the friend we can help. Bring him to me."

"I'll try, but you know how loyal they are to Stilinski."

"Promise him whatever you have to, but bring him to me." Without waiting for a response Gerard hung up the phone, a smile finally eking across his face. This could be good. This could be very good.

He picked up the receiver finally with a change of mood and dialed.

"I need you to move things along with Hale. He's becoming a liability to us and our associate is becoming a problem," he said as soon as it was answered.

"I told you I have this handled. I'll get back to you in two days. Don't use this number again. I will send another one to you through our mutual friend." With that the woman with the husky voice hung up.

++++++

The door swung quitely close, swallowing Erica on the other side and leaving the office in almost absolute silence.

Stiles gulped and tried to control his galloping heart as Peter lifted a single brow.

"I'm sorry," Stiles began and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say when a second brow raised in a surprisingly near blank expression that was frosty even in its ire.

"What exactly are you sorry for, Stiles? Are you sorry you lied to my face when I asked what was wrong? Or are you sorry you allowed my nephew into our home?"

Stiles' heart skipped a bit at the mention of "our home". Perhaps all was not lost. But Peter's next words shattered him.

"Or perhaps you are sorry he left bruises that you'd have to explain? Or, maybe that you encouraged my household to lie to me by omission? Or," he paused as he reached across and snagged a large envelope from his desk, "or are you sorry there's now evidence floating around about it?"

Through the entire indictment Peter's voice had not raised one iota. In fact, the envelope slapping against the polished nearby surface was the loudest sound in the room, next to the accelerated beating of Stiles' heart. Oh God, there was evidence?! He rushed to open the envelope and immediately felt bile rise in his throat. Dropping the packet he rushed for Peter's bathroom and proceeded for the second time in less than an hour to empty the contents of his near empty stomach.

It was then that the full magnitude crashed down upon him and he started to tremble. His throat started to close and his chest felt ready to explode. Oh God, he couldn't breathe. He wasn't even aware he had emitted a sound until he felt himself dragged away from the toilet bowl and enveloped in steely arms.

"Breathe, Stiles. Please, breathe. Just breathe." The mantra was as much a comfort for Stiles as it was for Peter himself.

Gradually the black spots began to recede from Stiles' vision and he blinked up at the man holding him - both of them huddled against the wall.

"Are you ok?" Peter's voice was near a whisper, breath ruffling Stiles' locks.

"God, I'm so stupid. Peter, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry... I..." And that's when the sobs took over, to Stiles' continued mortification.

It tore at Peter's heart. He'd been angry. In fact, he'd been mad as hell, at Stiles for lying to him; at his nephew for what the pictures were telling him he'd done in his own damn house, but he could also finally admit now that he was angry, furious with himself, for not protecting the man he loved. And now again for reducing him to a panic attack and worse for the pain he could hear in his voice. If there's one thing he'd promised himself it was that he'd be better for and to Stiles than his nephew had ever been. Yet here they were, splintering before the relationship even really begun.

"Hush now." He sighed heavily. "Tell me what happened. The truth this time."

So there, on the floor of Peter's office bathroom he found out the details of that afternoon. As he listened he forced himself not to react as his emotions were taunting him to, because he knew if he did this mere planet would not survive his wrath. He'd burn it all to the ground without apology and his nephew would be first to go.

"Why'd you lie to me?"

"I don't even know." Stiles shook his head softly. "I started thinking about Laura and Cora and what would happen to them if you killed their brother. I was sure you would kill him and I don't know that I could live with that. With destroying your family and worse, I was sure you would never forgive yourself for it. It seems like I continue to bring you nothing but bad luck.

"Now there are pictures out there, and, oh my God," he started trembling again, and Peter just squeeze him tighter, "this is going to get so much worse, and I didn't even prepare you for it. How could I have been so stupid?"

"Stop that. You're not stupid. You made a bad decision in the midst of shock after being assaulted. I'm still angry with you, but I understand what was behind it." He reached down and tilted Stiles' face up to him until their eyes met. "You can never do it again, Stiles. I will not be lied to, ever by you. Never by you."

"I promise. I swear it." Stiles hiccuped.

"Now. I'm going to call the theatre and tell them you won't be back for rehearsals this evening..."

"...Peter!" Stiles gasped. "I have..."

"Hear me out," his lover interrupted. "I want you to be examined by a physician to make sure there's no real damage done and then you are going to talk to a friend of mine, who practices mental therapy, about this whole situation. I think you've been wound too tight these past years and dancing has been your only outlet til now, and the flowers at rehearsal ruined that today. So no, you can go back tomorrow; today you're taking the evening off. Don't worry, I'll make it worth Finstock's while."

Stiles sighed. "...and Derek?"

"You do not mention his name in my presence from this point forth."

"Peter..."

"No, my love. He is not your worry any longer, I promise. I should have protected you better. He should never have been able to get anywhere near you, and for that I accept my role in how this entire mess unfolded. He was angry at me, and I suppose by extension at you as well. I should've seen that and ensured your safety above all else. This, will never happen again."

The finality in Peter's voice made Stiles shiver.

++++++

"How did it go, darling?"

"Good, I think. We got two more board members on our side, and I'm sure by the end of the week we would have convinced a majority to force my uncle to sell," Derek ground out, stripping out of his jacket and tossing it on the nearby couch.

"So the information helped then?" Jennifer smiled slyly, cocking a hip provocatively against the nearby doorway.

He moved toward her, sliding a hand beneath the opening of her robe. "It certainly did. You are a very resourceful woman. Tannis was ready to piss himself when he saw what I had on him. There's no way he will risk voting against us. The project on Heresea is good as guaranteed. I don't know how to thank you."

"Uh uh," she chided as his hands started to rove across her curves. "Now now. We need to talk about your uncIe and what we're going to do about him. We need to consider what happens after he loses the vote. He won't go quietly into the night, you know that Derek."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, dear. I'm saying that once he realises what you've done, he's never going to let it rest and he won't allow you control of the stock like you've been hoping for. You need to plan for that, put a contingency in place. Just think about it," she purred, running a hand beneath Derek's shirt and down his back as he all but arched into her hands.

The slight furrow of his brow told her that she'd succeeded in planting a seed. That's all she needed. Her gossips would do the rest.

++++++

Lydia watched as the dancer, she couldn't even remember the chit's name, walked up yet again and whispered something to Scott. Whatever it was the girl had been telling him for the past day or so had obviously left him conflicted. Lydia knew that face well, and she didn't trust that sly looking Miss.

Ordinarily it wasn't something she would worry about, but last night, she'd been leaving the theatre later than usual even after Stiles had failed to return for evening rehearsals, and caught Scott getting into a car with the girl in question. She would have been worried for Allison, if she didn't know that Scott was devoted, til death, to Allison, but it didn't make sense. As she watched the car disappear she couldn't quiet the unsettled feeling it left her with.

She was in her kitchen fixing a late night health shake when it came to her. She knew that car. Allison had ridden in that car once when her own was receiving repairs. It belonged to her grandfather - Gerard Argent. The one Argent that hated Peter Hale with an unwavering passion. It had caused her to smack the glass down onto the counter in anger.

 _Scott, you fool. What have you gotten yourself into?_ And she was determined to find out. Perhaps it was time to remind these chits who was the HBIC (Head Bitch In Charge). And heaven help Scott if he was even thinking of betraying their friend.


	8. Crumbs Beneath Our Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles make up; Erica makes some disturbing discoveries and Peter starts to realise the plot going on right beneath his nose is more involved than he ever imagined when a past enemy resurfaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another full chapter, with several things happening simultaneously. I'm just trying to set up the motives for where the story is headed, because I don't really think I can do the 'long suspense followed by a big reveal' thing. I'm more of a "see this is what's coming, so prepare" kinda person, so there... Hope that's not too disappointing for the story. I don't think any warnings are necessary here, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Oh, and thanks for the reviews and comments thus far. It helps the process. Comments are brain food.  
> \-----

Stiles was panting, close to the edge of a release that Peter was at the moment denying him. He arched off the bed, wanting to feel those large hands on him as a moan escaped his lips, but so far Peter had kept their foreplay pretty much innocent.

He'd licked and sucked every inch of skin across Stiles' neck, chest and stomach but refused to go below the waistline even though Stiles was writhing in something close to pain and sensory overload, but the "strictly above the waist" rule remained firmly in place. Stiles was about to lose his mind.

"Peter," he gasped, "please!"

"Soon, my love," and proceeded to lave his left nipple and roll the right between his fingertips. Stiles arched again and cried out, the sound boucing off the bedroom walls. His right hand was grasping both of Stiles in one big hand, because his young lover was determined and testing the boundaries of the agreement they'd established some while ago.

The current petting session was one endorsed by the therapist, who after several meetings with Stiles had suggested that perhaps replacing a bad memory with a good one could ease some of Stiles' anxiety and his tendancy to startle at being touched suddenly. Peter would do anything to remove the memory of Derek from Stiles' mind and their home.

The petting had started on the couch and progressed to the bedroom and as Peter's tongue delved into his navel, Stiles decided he couldn't take any more and came with his lover's name on his tongue. Peter smiled as panting, Stiles opened his eyes and looked at him with something close to wonder and definitely with affection. "I love you, Peter," he whispered solemnly.

"You too, pet." He drew the younger man into his arms as his breathing slowed and evened out into the beginnings of sleep. "More than you'll ever know," he whispered, holding him close.

++++++

"Are you certain you weren't followed?"

"Relatively. I took precautions," Peter responded, looking at the pale, frightened man in front of him. "What's this about Tannis?"

"Jesus. I don't even know where to begin. This has just gotten so out of hand," the freckled, nervous man glanced up but refused to look him in the eye. "You have to understand, Peter, I never thought this could ever get this bad. It was just one time but... shit... I don't even know how they found out..."

"Tannis, you need to slow down. You aren't making any sense." He'd never seen Tannis in such a state.

"I want you to know the only reason I'm here is because I respect you Peter. And after your sister first gave me a job, I thought I owed it to her memory, to the company to do this, but if they find out I'm even talking to you I'm good as dead. Shit, I might already be dead for even being here..." he trailed off. "I never thought it'd come to this. You have to know I would never do anything to hurt the company. Never."

Apart from being a board member, Tannis was also their chief accountant. He had been around Talia's age, they'd went to school together, which made him seven or so years older than Peter.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Tannis."

The older man drew a shaky breath then exhaled. He dropped onto a nearby crate in the empty warehouse where he had insisted Peter come to meet him, away from the City. "Two years ago my eldest ran into some trouble. He'd been out carousing with some friends, ended up at an invitation only kind of club where you pay up front and they supply whatever you want. It was pretty much like a strip club, or at least that's what he thought. So he was expecting a night of fun, smokes, naked girls, you know, typical stuff for young men.

"The problem began when he came home shaking, literally scared to death and refused to leave the house for days. We tried talking to him, asking, nothing worked, he even refused to see his friends. Two days later the phone rang and there was a man, calling himself The Dealer and he said my son owed The Club House, that's what he calls it, The Club House, 10,000 sheddons. He said my son had until midnight to pay up or else and simply hung up. I confronted Charles and he simply started shaking even harder and crying, so I got scared. We didn't have nearly enough and I thought of coming to you but Charles said we couldn't tell anyone, it wasn't safe. I told him I wasn't just going to hand over money for something I didn't know anything about. We got a call, 12:05 the next morning saying Charles was in the hospital. He been dumped out of a moving car a few feet from the hospital by a car which never stopped. They just shoved him out and kept going. We didn't even know he had left the house.

"We got to the hospital and after we saw Charles, like just stepped out of his room and my phone rang. I thought it was one of the other kids calling to check in because we immediately called Cat and Jack to make sure they were ok, but it was the Dealer, telling me the debt had doubled and I had two days before it tripled and I would not like the consequences if that happened. I got scared and took the money from the company.

"Peter I swear to you I took it intending to pay it back, and in fact I did pay it back, with interest. To this day my son has never told me what happened, and we've stopped asking but I have no doubt whatever it was it wasn't good. I don't know how much Derek knows, but he knows about the money and I don't even know how he knew about that. Somehow he found out I took the money and now he's holding it over my head for a vote against you on the Heresea project. I do think he's up to no good and I can't think that this vote is just about a piece of development land. This hasn't even been something very high on our radar, but whatever this is about, Peter, I can't allow my son to be dragged back into anything, but if it comes out that I took money from the company, it won't matter that I paid it back. I could hang for this, with property laws being what they are. I just don't know what to do."

"So all he's asked you to do is vote in favour of the sale of the property?"

"Yes, to Hezron Developers... and I can't think I'm the only director he's tried this with. If these are the tactics he and his henchmen are using, I can't think I'm the only vote he's trying to get this way. I mean I knew he was a little weasel, but this..." Tannis gasped, having run out of breath, speaking so quickly.

"Am I safe in thinking you haven't shared this information with anyone else?"

"Of course not. I... I've been wracking my brain trying to think what I should do. I talked to Shelly and she and I both agreed we had to tell you regardless, but Peter, you should know that after Derek approached me, a man came to the house and dropped off a package. They were photos are of our son, bleeding and strapped to a chair. He was wearing the same God damned clothes as the night he was pitched out of the car at the hospital with cracked ribs and bruised organs. Whatever it is that this thing is about, whatever your nephew is involved in, its wrapped up in that nasty, sordid affair and I won't have my son dragged back into that. We only just now convinced him to reenroll in classes. I'd quit and move my family out of this damned City before I put them in danger again."

"Ok, Tannis. Ok. Calm down. Tell no one that you've spoken to me, and tell your wife the same."

"But what about the vote? That's less than two weeks away now."

"Leave it to me. No harm will come to your family and I will get to the bottom of this. I promise. Go home, Tannis. Call in sick if you need to, but I need you functioning and not in this state."

Tannis gave him a long, piercing gaze before he nodded. "You should be wary too, Peter. I just don't know what the hell is going on anymore," he said tiredly and left the warehouse, shoulders slumped as if he'd just shed a load and was empty.

He'd thought this was just about his nephew and Argent making money off this project, but something was very rotten here if they were willing to go to these lengths for a simple strip of real estate. He hadn't paid attention before, but it had his full focus now.

++++++

Jennifer was wary. Argent and his shady little pet associate she could handle, but The Dealer, he was something else entirely. That man scared her, which was why she'd fed the information to Derek as the man had instructed. He'd sent one of his men to inform her that they already had cards in play, all she had to do was point Derek in the right direction and they would do the rest, so she did.

When this whole thing started it was about revenge for Kate, the love of her life. And she was no fool, she knew Argent was using her connection and love for Kate to get her to do his bidding, even though he never approved of their relationship. As her benefactor, Kate had not been an easy woman to know, but her death meant that her acquisitions were now those of Gerard Argent. When he'd served her up to Derek Hale, it had been the perfect in, but then The Dealer had contacted her with an offer. Anyone that had ever heard of The Dealer knew you only said yes and how can I help to the man.

No one knew his real name, even fewer knew what he looked like, but the underground feared his name. He was a man that could make someone disappear without a trace and he had, hundreds of unclaimed had disappeared with only whispers about The Dealer and even the gossips knew better than to whisper words about it. Whisper at your own peril.

So when he'd sent his messenger to engage her 'services' to spy on his behalf she hadn't said a word to Argent. She'd work both angles and if she was lucky she would survive this, watch the revenge she set in motion unfold and be a free woman at the end of it. She had no clue what The Dealer wanted from the Hales, but she was certain it went deeper than this bit of land they seemed so intent on acquiring. But even the Queen of gossip had no intention of poking her nose where she could lose it and her neck too. She was too clever for that.

++++++

Ever since her 'birdie' had awoken her at the crack of dawn with pictures and names, Erica had been digging; using every resource she had, quietly, but digging nonetheless. And what she'd found so far chilled her to the bone.

"Where is he now?" Peter had yet to glance up from this newest set of photos. She'd never seen him in this state. His hands had actually shook when he'd first seen the man in the dark sunglasses.

"I have someone tailing him and they will let me know when he leaves this location. So as far as I know, he's still there. My sources tell me his name is Deuca..."

"I know what his name is. And you're sure he's the source the pictures?"

"Yes, but the person who took them is a contact of Jennifer Blake. So it would seem that she's working with him somehow. From what I've been able to gather, he's been in town less than six months but I have no definitive information on where he was before that. One of the shell corporations he owns is Hezron Development. Others include Primus, Clearon Pharmaceutical and FlashCon. It turns out, that so far at least five of the people who bought stock in FreeComs had money trails back to Primus or FlashCon. So at this stage, it's a pretty safe bet to say something's rotten in Beacon Hills."

Picking up his phone, Peter quickly dialed. "Boyd, do you have Stiles in your sights? No, no specific threat, just... don't lose sight of him at all today. I don't care if you need to follow him into his dressing room, do you understand? Tell him the orders are mine. Thank you."

Erica watched his Adam's Apple dance before his eyes took on a steely glare. "Who is he Peter? Because whoever he is, he's got a serious beef with you."

"Yes," Peter said, lowly. "Yes, he does." He finally laid the photos down and tried to calm his racing pulse. He'd hoped never to see Duke again. And even so, the guilt still lanced through him as the thought came. "He's someone I used to know. The brother of someone I used to know, long ago. More than 20 years ago, back when I was young, stupid and impulsive."

"That's a long time to carry a grudge, if it is a grudge..." Erica said, voice lilting up into a question that was not quite a question.

Peter got up from his desk and walked to the window, staring out at nothing as the memories flooded in. "That tends to happen when you're responsible for someone's death."


	9. Playing With Fire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica learns a little bit about her boss' past. Scott bites off more than he can chew. Lydia goes on the warpath and Derek finds out his uncle was right and he's in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I must apologise for the last two weeks or so without updates. I've been living out of a suitcase travelling for work and am about to leave again, so updates will be a bit slow for now, but I will try to do some writing when I get a breather and some downtime. 
> 
> Here's another chapter with a lot happening but very little Peter/Stiles interaction. It's not my best effort but I wanted to get it out from my computer. I promise next chapter the boys will return. Just need to set some evil in motion first. Hope you enjoy, and keep the comments coming.

Erica was reeling. She knew Peter was a dangerous man, but certainly when he claimed to have been responsible for someone's death he didn't mean cold blooded murder? I mean, she could get behind it if the person deserved it, but Peter was not the kind of man to regret getting rid of a bad egg. They were very alike in that way. Which could only mean...

"What are you saying Peter?" she said, in a voice so unlike her usual vivre and sass.

Peter didn't turn around. Just stared off into the distance as if his thoughts were so far away her question had not reached him. In fact, right then Peter was back in hell, one he swore he'd never revisit, one he'd left behind years ago when he picked up the mess his life was then and made a fresh start, thanks to Talia.

Peter was always an annoying shit. He was gorgeous, arrogant and determined to live his own life as he saw fit, and well out of his sister's limelight. It was that thinking when he'd fucked himself off to college as far away from his family as he could, that saw him leading the popular crowd. He was king of his castle at Brekenshire University, the most illustrious of schools for the wealthy, well-to-do whiz kids of the generation.

Rebelling in every way, it was there that he first met Emett Shelby. They hated each other on site and thus began a year-long battle for supremacy - Emett, the outsider transferred in the midst of the freshman year, just as brilliant as bitter and determined to lead the town, as was Peter Hale, the one student who did not hesitate to tell a professor to fuck right off, if he saw fit. Of course, at times it meant one of those same professors would end up in his bed by the end of the week in one of his long-running betting schemes, but the point was, he did what he wanted, when he wanted and however he damn well pleased.

Which is why it came as a surprise when the two returned after first year almost joined at the hip. The summer, it seemed had seen them travelling across the planet engaging in whatever vices they pleased, and Emett, it turned out had quite a few. He was the one who introduced Peter to his liming pals, the hells, and of course, the recreational drugs. By the end of second year, the drugs were becoming less recreational and more of a lifestyle, and Emett was convinced Peter was going to be the man he married, and Peter loved him, oh how he loved the sarcastic, hard-headed, proud bastard.

So when they lost a friend in the hells, which were the underground parties that were for the sort of invitation only crowd Peter and Emett hung with, it proved to be a wake up call for Peter. Anna had been a close friend who'd just found out she was pregnant and was planning on quitting the scene. How she ended up in the hells that night with the hallucinogens in her system he'd never found out, but it had wrecked him because his sister at the time was pregnant with her second daughter. Something about it struck home and he started to dial back on the stuff, even as Emett pushed full steam ahead.

The whole thing came to a head when Peter started spending more time in his room and with his books than their delinquent friends. He'd felt immense guilt because the last thing a happy smiling Anna had said to him was, "Peter, you have so much potential but you're throwing it away on the wrong things. Pissing your family off may hurt them for a while, but it will end up hurting you more and for longer, and if you don't stop this, maybe for ever." He just could not shake the look in her eyes as she'd said it.

In some ways, Erica reminded him of Anna. The same take no prisoners spirit, but strong willed and determined they both were. So in respect for her he tried to turn his life around. It meant he found other kinds of friends - something that would drive Emett to fits of anger and accusations of infidelity even though Peter had absolutely no interest, sexual or otherwise in anyone else. But after one particularly heated argument he went out for a drink. One drink turned into several and he woke up the next day in the apartment of a man he briefly remembered meeting that night.

Coming home, wrinkled and with the smell of another man's cologne on him had been the breaking point for Emett. Harsh words led to slammed doors, unanswered texts and calls, and four days later he got a call that Emett was in a coma. He'd overdosed on a cocktail of party drugs and by the time help arrived his brain was already damaged.

His brother was another thing to contend with. Peter was sitting at Emett's bedside when Deucalion walked in and promptly threw him out. It seemed the Shelbys were convinced Peter was the one that got Emett started on drugs rather than the other way around, after all Peter had the hellboy reputation and the disciplinary records to go with it. Emett, to his family, had always been the poster boy for Child of the Year. His family, most of whom Peter had never met in their 18 months together, had a totally different view of their son.

When they'd been forced to take Emett off the life support machines after repeated attempts at reanimation failed, Peter virtually fell apart. He had lost his first love and it was all his prideful fault. If only he'd gone after Em and told him that nothing had happened, that he'd only slept at the guy's apartment but nothing untoward had occurred perhaps this would not have happened. But they were both angry, both said hurtful words, both were too full of pride to apologise, and now his brother was swearing retribution.

Talia came, and it took her months of constantly supervising Peter to ensure he would not harm himself. He'd now lost his two closest friends to drugs at such young ages. She withdrew him from classes, bullied him into assisting her in small ways and eventually he wanted to get out of bed in the morning. Eventually he would go on to get his degrees at the top of his classes and to stick to her side like a leech, learning the business like he'd never had before. He owed Talia his life because there were moments when the guilt and grief almost killed him. It was also one of the reasons he felt so responsible for not having been able to protect Stiles better and why he was trying to reign in his more protective instincts that now threatened to strangle him, because he was convinced that Duke would stop at nothing to destroy everything close to him. But why had it taken him this long?

"Peter?" the pained concern in the voice ripped him back from the past. He did not know what to do with the uncertainty in Erica's eyes. He could not handle it just then. He needed to regroup, badly. "What happened?"

"He thinks I killed his brother, and he's partially right. I did have a hand in it, and he once told me he'd see me dead just like Em, so I suppose now's the time."

"Jesus, Peter. We so don't need this now. Was it self-defense or something?"

Peter huffed, breath steaming the window in front of him,"Not exactly... but Duke's never been known for having finer qualities, and that was before the death of his baby brother." He sighed.

"What can I do? Tell me what to do?"

That had him turning with serious stormy eyes. "Stay away from him, that's what you can do. I mean it Erica. Duke was a little unstable before Em died, and Em was his whole world. I always expected him to come after me before now. Just stay away from him and put an extra pair of eyes on Stiles and my family."

 

++++++

 

Scott was pacing and muttering to himself. Lydia stood in the doorway watching him with interest, wondering what his reaction would be to what she had to say.

Almost before the thought had coalesced in her mind, Scott startled and turned towards her. "Lydia..."

She arched a dispassionate brow at him, resisting the urge to toss her red locks in annoyance. "Scott. Haven't you been a busy boy lately?" she asked with cold eyes and just a hint of bared teeth, watching as he swallowed audibly, fear in his eyes.

"I don't know what you mean," he stammered, without a trace of belief in what he just said. If anyone could corner him and get him to spill all, it was Lydia... and this, this was not something he could afford even for her to know.

His friendship with his two closest friends hung in the balance here, but that wasn't the only thing. His very life was on the line.

Her eyes held his for a long moment. "Look Lydia, whatever it is you think you know, I can promise it's not true. For once, just stay out of it," he admonished, trying to inject some courage into his warning.

Lydia drew herself up tall. "Or what, Scott? What will you do if I don't stay out of this? In fact, why don't you tell me why you're running around town with another woman, behind Allison's back, having secret meetings with a man who's out to destroy your best friend's lover? Why don't you start there."

Scott's eyes immediately went wide, sad and conflicted. "I only wanted to help. I couldn't stand the thought of him being hurt. I never thought ..."

"Thought what, Scott? What did you do? What have you done?"

Head down, Scott looked on the verge of tears. "It's too late now. Nothing more I can do," he all but whisper, quickly shuffling past Lydia and out of the room, wrenching himself away from her seeking hands.

Dammit, she needed answers, and she was going to get them come hell or high water. Marching from the office, she hunted down the one other person who could tell her what she wanted to know.

Dragging the pretty, petite girl by the arm to an empty room, she all but tossed her inside.

"What does Argent want with Scott?" she asked and watched as the dancer's eyebrows climbed to her hairline and she looked ready to bolt. "Don't play with me, girl, and don't even think about running because I will hunt you down like the bitch you are trying to be, and I can promise you, you won't like the results. So talk, and don't you dare pretend you don't know what I'm asking."

"I'm not afraid of you," the blonde, Daphne, blustered, squaring her shoulders. Lydia had a reputation for being blunt, but Daphne's boss had a reputation for being deadly. Her decision was already made. "You walk around here like you own the place, but you don't scare me."

"Then I'll just have to work on that, won't I?" Lydia's smile was shark-like as she moved into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Twenty minutes later the girl rushed from the room in tears, leaving a seething Lydia behind. She could hardly contain her anger at Scott, the damn fool, and her mind was whirling with how few options and little time she really had now. She needed to find Stiles and warn Peter, and she hoped she wasn't too late.

 

++++++

 

Derek glanced at the dark head next to his own. He'd under-estimated this whole thing tremendously and he was about to drown. He just hoped it wasn't literally. He still had a few contacts in the underground and what he was hearing had given him pause. Sure he wanted his uncle to pay, but the wheels that were now in motion, surely this was going too far?!

But this faceless Dealer that he'd unwittingly gotten in bed with, everyone said the man was not to be taken lightly. Once you got into business with him, you didn't get out until he was good and ready to release you, and Derek was up to his neck and wanting out.

Options, options, he needed options. He needed to position himself for when this thing went sideways and it would. Suddenly what he'd done to Stiles to anger his uncle seemed truly like child's play compared to what was coming, but what could he do. If he warned Peter, then he'd be back where he was before, under his uncle's thumb. If he waited it out to see what would happen, he'd likely end up with blood on his hands.

He clenched fists beneath the silken sheets as he glanced again at Jennifer. How could a pretty face have lured him into this pit. He just hoped it wasn't too late to extricate himself before he went down with this dangerous ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may be a little slow going forward for a lil bit.


	10. This Dark Place ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds himself in danger. Will Lydia and Peter ride to the rescue or will they be too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again apologies for the lapse in updating schedule. Work travel and schedules have been murder these past weeks. I will try to post again next week, even though I'm travelling again on Tuesday, so hopefully Wednesday night I can put something up. Good news is, you will notice I've finally settled on four more chapters to the end. I know I promised some Steter in this chapter, but the characters did their own thing - fucking Gerard would not listen to what I wanted to do... sigh. So I ended up with this rather than what I had planned. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> ***Also, warning for panic attack trigger***

Erica had just rushed into Peter's office when his phone bleeped with a number he didn't know. The look on Erica's face told him something was horribly wrong.  
  
"Stiles...." was her breathy gasp before he hit a button to light up the phone.  
  
"Who is this?" he asked, voice cold and glacial.  
  
"Peter? Peter Hale? This is Lydia Martin. Stiles, is he with you?" the anxious female voice filled his office.  
  
At the question Peter's heart started throbbing and his gaze shot to Erica's panicked eyes.  
  
"No, he isn't here. He's with Boyd...?" his statement faded into a question at Erica's rapidly shaking head, and a feeling like lead settled in his stomach.  
  
"Boyd just called. Stiles told him he was meeting Scott at the bar around the corner from the studio. He asked Boyd to give them some privacy because they had to sort out a few things, so Boyd sat at the bar, while they got a booth. He said Stiles got up to go to the bathroom and he followed when someone hit him from behind. By the time he came through he was in a stall in the bathroom and both Stiles and Scott were gone. He's questioning the bar owner now and trying to review the recordings ... but Stiles is gone," Erica said, her anxiety climbing into a hard edge.  
  
"Shit, that idiot!" Lydia hissed.  
  
Peter's hands balled into tightly clenched fists, as he grated out, "What do you know, Lydia?"  
  
She exhaled heavily. "I was hoping I could stop this. I think Gerard Argent might have him but I don't know where. As far as the information I got goes, it seems Scott thought you were abusing Stiles and Argent offered to help get him away from you. Only when he met with Gerard and realised he maybe made a mistake in agreeing to have anything to do with him, he threatened Scott's mother and showed him pictures as evidence that he could get to her easily. So Scott arranged to bring Stiles to that decrepit bastard. It was agreed that Stiles wouldn't be hurt, but this is Gerard we are talking about.  
  
"I tried to talk to Scott earlier today but he wouldn't talk to me and Finstock says he's been missing all afternoon, so I don't know if they took him as well or if he's gone into hiding. I'm going to call Allison and see if she knows anything. We'll find him, Peter. We have to. I'll call you back when I get anything. In the meantime, you might want to look into a dancer here by the name of Daphne Birch, she's the one who took Scott to meet Argent. She's one of his."  
  
Without waiting, Lydia terminated the call. Peter's gaze turned to Erica. "Daphne Birch, right. On it. I'm going to make a few calls and see if we can turn up anything else, any whispers about this underground. Someone has to know where he is. We'll find him, boss. I promise."  
  
She stalked out of his office and Peter lifted his phone and dialed. When a voice answered, "I need you here", was all he said to the female on the other end before hanging up. It was time to take off the gloves. By the time he got through with Argent the man would be in the ground, he swore to it.  
  
It was time for war, and his nephew was going to be his detonator.  
  
++++++  
  
Derek glanced at the monitor again nervously. The banging had started up less than a minute ago and the person the monitor told him was on the other side was not someone he was hoping to have to deal with for a while, especially given the two men behind him.  
  
Swallowing and steeling himself he pulled opened the door and glared at his uncle. He barely got, "What do you ..." out before he was seized by the throat and slammed into the nearest wall.  
  
"Where is he?" A gust of heated air brushed his cheek at Peter's question, his face a scant distance away.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Derek wheezed through a sore throat - an increasingly red face detailing his lack of air.  
  
"Your buddy Argent took Stiles. Where. is. he?" he squeezed out, as his hands tighted around Derek's neck.  
  
"What do you mean took Stiles?" At the befuddled expression on Derek's face, Peter's grip eased a bit, eyes scrutinising the foolish young man for any sign of duplicity.  
  
"OK, let's pretend you do know better than to lie to me right now," he continued. "Where's your whore, because I'm sure she's wrapped up in this somehow."  
  
"Jennifer's not here. She had some errands to run today," he gasped, not even taking offense at Peter's description of his current bedmate. But if he thought that would have satisfied Peter at all, he was mistaken.  
  
"What errands?" Peter's eyes were sharp again, narrowing in on Derek.  
  
"I don't know. She doesn't discuss those activities with me. To be honest it's better not to know. Are you serious about Stiles? Argent's taken him?"  
  
"What, you thought your partners were going to wait on you forever to deliver on whatever you promised them without insurance?" Peter bit out, irritated again. "Well you're coming with me, nephew and you're not leaving my sight until I have Stiles back."  
  
"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with you. If they think I'm helping you or that I've betrayed them I'm dead, Peter."  
  
Peter's face went blank, his eyes icy, stance frigid. "What do you think I'm going to do with you? Right now, you should worry about that."  
  
"Peter, please," Derek scrabbled at his hands, fingernails leaving scratches on the back of Peter's vice grip.  
  
"What do you think they'll do to Stiles now they have him, hmmm? If you're expecting pity here, you're looking in the wrong place. You got us into this and I will feed you to the wolves to get us out of it if I have to. You should come to terms with that, my traitorous kin." He shoved Derek in the direction of the two bodyguards that had accompanied him. A third was waiting at the entrance to the complex and he would remain out of sight, eyes scoping for Jennifer's return.  
  
++++++  
  
Stiles inhaled deeply and swallowed. His throat was sore and tight with fear. _Where was Scott? God, he hoped they hadn't hurt Scott._ If only he could get his hands free of these bands, but they were synacuffs. That was the damn problem with technology, when it worked, it worked too damn well. Without the proper code or DNA recognition, the cuffs would be impossible to remove from his wrists, and he still had no clue who'd applied them. The last thing he remembered was a faint smell in the bathroom that caused him to sneeze and then he was out like a light, only waking up in this windowless room with no idea where he was, what had happened, or even how much time had lapsed. The fact that the room was soundproofed only made his anxiety worse. For the last couple minutes he'd been fighting back the panic attack he could feel blossoming in his chest.  
  
As if his thoughts had triggered some action, a click sounded and the door swung open. _Of course. Of. fucking. course._  
  
"What do you want, you crazy son of a bitch?" he yelled at the smiling man facing him.  
  
"I'd watch my tongue if I were you. Wouldn't want to see it ripped right out of that nasty mouth of yours, would we? God knows what you've been doing with it," the man jeered, even as his eyes covered every inch of Stiles. And it was that look more than anything else that scared him stiff.  
  
He was used to the dirty looks - judgement in their eyes; but he also knew looks like this one. Looks like this one promised pain, and more often than not it was because the person at the end of the eyeballs in question hated themself for their own denied desires. People like this scared him shitless. So he did what he seldom does - he shut up.  
  
"What, is that all you've got?" Gerard bated as he moved closer to Stiles, very aware of the ratcheting state of his panic, as evident in the overly wide eyes and flushed skin. "I would think Hale would have gone for something with more fire." The grin that followed was wolfish, and still Stiles held onto his tongue.  
  
_Nope_ , he had nothing more to say to this man. The less said, the better.  
  
With a final laviscious glance, Gerard smiled and closed the door behind himself, and that's when the panic hit. His chest tightened and he struggled to remember how to count, curling himself into a ball on the floor. _Just breathe, God just breathe._ Why couldn't he breathe? He would not die in this place, not like this.  
  
_God, Peter_... It was his last thought before darkness claimed him.  
  
++++++  
  
"What the fuck did you do? What have you done? Are you crazy?"  
  
The slap stunned her. Gerard stuck a pointed finger right under her nose. "Have you forgotten your place? You ever raise your voice to me again and I will take a whip to your back. Seems these weeks of cushy living with young Hale have gone to your brain and made you forget who you are and what you are. Now calm down, and lower your voice. I've got everything under control."  
  
 Jennifer grabbed her reddening cheek and grit her teeth. _Foolish old fart._ Peter Hale would see them all dead before this was done. If there was one thing she was very aware of, it was Hale's possessiveness that no one else seemed to have the brains not to mess with. She was about revenge, yes, but also about survival. First it was Derek and his folly, and she was surprised Peter let him live, but this, he would never forgive this and they would all burn for it.  
  
She wanted to see Peter pay for what happened to Kate. He deserved to pay, but things were spiraling out of control now. It was time for her exit strategy. She feared The Dealer, but somehow, suddenly she knew after this latest development that he wouldn't be the worst thing that could go bump in the night.  
  
\---------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed brainfood.


	11. ... Is There Really No Light?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, Lydia, Erica and Boyd race against time to find Gerard, and Stiles, hopefully alive. Scott worries about the consequences of his choice, and the Peter has a conversation with his nemesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as promised, here's the next update... Enjoy!  
> \---------------------------------------

Derek tried to make himself as invisible as possible, but even so, each time Erica even caught sight of him he felt he came that much closer to losing his spleen. No doubt she would rip it out with her teeth if Peter just but gave the signal. But Peter was too engrossed otherwise.

Even from the car on the way back to his complex he'd been making calls and speaking languages, some of which Derek had never heard before. He'd almost forgotten the connections his uncle had. The fact that anyone had been brave, or foolish, enough to take Stiles from right under his nose had incensed Peter.

He knew that the girl Daphne Birch had been picked up by one of Erica's "associates" trying to flee town and wrung dry of anything else she had omitted to tell Lydia. He had no idea if she was even still alive. He had to admit, his little stunt with Stiles had gone further than he would have dared normally. He'd lost his head. But here and now, he knew one wrong move, one wrong word and they would be calling in a contact team to remove what remained of his body. And chances were, it would be at the hands of the mercenary in the corner.

Erica was frightening. She was the scariest woman he'd ever met, until Peter had opened his locked and armed door and this woman had been sitting in his chair behind his desk. Erica was no longer as scary as this scarred dark woman now sitting on a window sill in the corner, cleaning her fingernails with a hunting knife while chewing gum. She'd yet to say a word or look at anyone other than Peter, and even then she'd only greeted him with a minute nod before she vacated his chair and proceeded to the other side of the room and had yet to leave the space.

Peter's mobile pinged and he glanced at the screen with a frown, sat behind his desk and began typing furiously. Erica and the merc paused to look up at him. Without moving his eyes from the screen he waved them both off with a single hand.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife - not the merc's knife, but any other knife.

And even as he thought about knives, the merc's eyes slowly raised to look at him and he almost shit himself. There was no smile, no frown, no sneer, not even a tilt of the head, just a steady stare that seemed to strip his soul bare - and as if she'd found what she was looking for in those long, brief two minutes, she slid the knife into the sheath strapped to her thigh and gazed beyond the windows.

"We may have something," Peter's voice in the room that had been devoid of all chatter just moments ago was jarring. Erica rushed from where she was paused over a map, alternately tapping out messages on her mobile, to glance over Peter's shoulder.

"How sure is this information?" As she asked it, Erica cursed herself for her misstep. Peter just raised an eyebrow. "Got it," she rushed from the room.

The merc stood from her place, but a shake of Peter's head had her resuming her perch. Two sharp moves of her neck and popping noises joined the clack of keys from Peter's computer as the only sounds in the room. Whatever it was he'd found, it certainly couldn't be Stiles, because Peter was still sitting there, and Derek was still alive.

++++++

Scott spun around as Gerard entered his office. "You said nobody would be hurt!"

"Did I now?" Gerard barely spared the _boy_ a glance.

"He was UNCONSCIOUS! What did you DO to him? WHERE IS HE?"

"If you don't stop your mewling and that infernal shouting, you just may get a chance to join him," Gerard snarled.

Scott paused, sucking in air to ward off an asthma attack. "Where is he? Please, at least tell me he's alright..."

"He's alright." Nodding to his comrade at the far end of the room, Gerard said, "Get him out of here. He's upsetting my happy moment."

The sneaky man slithered in Scott's direction, but Scott was already moving towards the door. He knew they would not let him leave for fear that he would give up the goods. So until this was over or they killed him, _God he hoped they didn't plan on killing him_ , he was stuck here in this hell hole.

As the door closed and Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose, his phone rang. Snatching it up he almost bellowed: "WHAT!?"

"Now is that any way to address a friend?"

He almost choked on saliva in his gasp to bring air into his lungs. "Sorry," he finally wheezed. "It's been a trying day."

"Yes, it would seem you've been very busy today. You have something that should be mine."

Gerard's heart stuttered almost audibly. He wasn't prepared for this call. What the hell did one say to The Dealer in a moment like this?

The brief chuckle told Gerard the man on the other end of the line fully knew the effect he was having. "Are you going to make me repeat myself, Mr. Argent? I would hate to have to repeat myself."

"Of course not..."

"Well then I assume the only reason you didn't call me the moment you got possession of the 'valuable' in question," he drawled out the word, "is because you were thinking of a way to deliver it."

"Umm ... well...," he swallowed sharply. "I didn't plan for him to enter the list, you understand? I thought, I, um, I felt he would serve better to keep our mutual enemy in line."

The chuckle was louder this time. "There you go again," The Dealer laughed outright, "thinking. What have I told you about thinking. I don't like it when people try to think for me, Mr. Argent. You already know this, and you know what happens when people try to think for me."

Gerard was sure he was about to have a heart attack as he recalled the picture of the remains of the last man to piss off The Dealer. "Yes, yes, yes, of course. No offense was meant, of course."

"Good. When can I expect delivery. I have a couple players that would love bartering for a chance to dabble with this little delight."

"Tomorrow."

Silence.

"I, I, I mean, would tomorrow be ok? We, uh, had a bit of trouble and the doctor's currently looking him over to make sure he's, he's, he's fit and, and ... serviceable."

"Very well, if I must wait. But the package had better be here tomorrow, Gerry. Good evening now." The call was severed.

It took three tries for Gerard to hang up the call. _What the fuck was he going to do now?_ The Dealer had just spoiled the party he had been planning for the little whore. He was sure what The Dealer had in mind was times worse than anything his brain could conceive, but nevertheless, he'd wanted his fun. Now he couldn't touch the boy. Damn it all to hell.

++++++

"Why hello, Peter."

"Duke. Fancy hearing from you."

"Is that so? You know me, always up for a nice chat. How have you been Peter? It's been quite some time."

"Where is my mate, Duke?"

A boisterous laugh filtered down the phone line. "Your 'mate'? You have a 'mate' now, do you? So what did that make my brother then, your whore, your dalliance?"

"You know I loved Emett. If you want to punish me for his death fine, have at it, but you leave Stiles alone. He has nothing to do with this."  


"Oh Peter. I would so love to punish you, to torture you actually, in so many different ways, but I'm afraid ... about this 'mate' thing, I have no hand in whatever it is you're accusing me of. I didn't take your 'mate'. Nor do I have him." Deucalion almost giggled at his own clever phrasing - technically it was all true.

"You harm a hair on his head Duke and I will kill you."

"Aww, shucks. Are we back to the old taunts and threats? I so missed this when you disappeared and how do we phrase it these days - 'turned over a new leaf?' all those years ago. It's so good to see you haven't lost the spark. It gives me tingles. I'll be in contact soon, my dear 'brother-in-law'. We have so much to discuss. And do let me know if that 'mate' of yours turns up, perhaps we can all have tea."

Peter flung the phone across the room, smashing it to pieces on the wall as a tortured scream bellowed from the depths of his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please.


	12. A Place for Everything ... And Everything In Its Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game between Duke and Peter moves into sudden death, with Stiles the unfortunate ball in play. Scott realises how much he's about to lose, and Derek surprises us all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that I don't really hate Derek all that much in canon, I thought perhaps I could give him a bit of a redeeming character - a miniscule one. We'll see what he does with it. Just two more chapters to go, so a lot is about to happen.
> 
> The chapters are long, and will get longer because I just couldn't break it up. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: There is a bit of domestic violence in this chapter. Someone is struck and injured, so if that's gonna be a trigger for you, please note that it's gonna get a lot bloodier in chapters to come.  
> \----------------------

Derek shivered. He'd never seen his uncle in this state. NEVER. Not even after the deaths of their family. Peter was close to the edge. He remembered the whispers in the family that had followed Emett's death, when Peter had been sent away "to get his head right" and how worried and on edge Talia had been.

The man standing in front of him was bleeding desperation and such pain.

"We've been watching him and if Stiles is anywhere in his vicinity, no one saw," Erica dared to break through Peter's pacing. He had been wearing a hole in the carpet since Deucalion's call. "Still no sign of Gerard or Scott."

At the latter's name Peter head flipped up like a string had been tugged. "Where's that girlfriend of his?"

Erica swallowed. "You mean Allison? She's at her father's."

"Bring her to me. Let's see if she knows where her boyfriend is."

Erica's eyes bugged. "Peter, she's Stiles' friend. Lydia's friend, and there's no way in hell Chris Argent will let us anywhere near her. She hasn't left the house since this thing happened."

"By this thing, are you referring to the fact that her boyfriend arranged the kidnapping of my mate? Her boyfriend who was also Stiles' friend?" Peter yelled.

"Peter. Peter!" Both pairs of eyes moved to Derek, while the merc remained stoic, unmoving. "You need to calm down. You're acting crazy now. Look I know you loved Emett, and I know you want Stiles back, but messing with Allison Argent is only gonna get you strung up by the Argent family."

Peter's gaze blazed at him, but he pushed on. "Let's think rationally about this. Going off half cocked is only likely to add to the body count and not get us anywhere." He purposely used the word 'us' to make it clear to his uncle he was tossing his kerchief into the ring.

"Duke wants you to suffer, yes, but this whole thing started with a stretch of land we thought was prime real estate. I've had someone digging behind the scenes to find out more because I couldn't understand why this plot was so valuable. Sure I wanted to stick it to you and hopefully show you up, run you out of the company, but the amount of pressure to secure this land didn't make sense if this was only about revenge and the land didn’t seem like a smoke screen,” Derek continued.

“Why didn’t you say anything before? I asked you what you knew about this and you told me nothing about this.” Peter advanced on his nephew slowly, and that seemed to finally get a rise out of the merc.

“Peter.” Just his name and he stood still, mere inches from Derek. He didn’t even look away, but the merc took her seat once more, satisfied that blood was not about to be spilled. At least not yet.

“I had to keep something to myself, Peter. The moment it looked like you were going to kill me it would have been my insurance.”

“And what makes you think your death is off the table, Derek? Why should I believe you now?” Peter asked smoothly.

“Because I’m dead if you don’t defeat The Dealer, and I’m dead if Gerard lives. Call it self-preservation.”

“Hmrph! Alright. Tell me what you’ve got and leave nothing out.”

“Ok, so I asked a friend…,” at the raising of Peter’s eyebrows, Derek scoffed, feeling a little more certain he had something to offer. “I do have friends you know, Peter. It wasn’t always like this…” he trailed off as he recalled how close he and Peter used to be. “We used to be friends too once.”

“Get to the point, Derek.”

“Ok. My friend told me when he started to dig into the property a number of strange things happened. His computer was hacked, his home was ransacked and they left a dead animal on his doorstep, with its throat slashed. Now this was just two days ago and then you showed up at my door. But my friend said that the desperation to hold onto the property doesn’t make sense. It’s just mostly scattered cottages in the midst of a woodland that drops off into a 60-foot cliff-face. Sure it could be cleaned up and turned into a profitable business development, but it’s still pretty deserted out there.

“He asked another friend who’s a bit more skilled at the subterfuge and the friend came back and told him to leave it alone. He said there was something weird going on with the property and frankly he wanted no part of it. Usually, with a deal like this there’s chatter, gossip underground, bets being placed about who’s bid will win. With this property there’s virtual radio silence.”

“So although the property belongs to Hale Inc., it’s being used as a front for something else?” Peter considered. “Any idea what?”

“No, but I’m sure if we put our resources to the task we can figure it out.” Derek’s voice was full of hope. It was quite the olive branch gesture, all that he had revealed, but he knew Peter seldom forgave and he never forgot.

++++++

Scott bit his lip as he glanced nervously at the small device again. It was the one he and Allison used to send secret messages and right now the messages gave him pause. Allison was asking about Lydia’s claim that he was involved in “some scheme to harm Stiles who is now missing and believed kidnapped or dead”. Even through text her panic was obvious.

How could he respond? How could Lydia involve Allison in this? What was he supposed to have done? He did it for his mother’s safety, as well as to ensure he could continue seeing Allison. He did it for them, but if he knew Lydia, she had painted a damning tale of his betrayal that he could not refute. His options were not good – lie to Allison and possibly save their relationship, which he might be able to rescue if given enough time to talk Ally around to his way of thinking; or tell the truth and risk losing her forever right now.

_God, why couldn’t Stiles have stayed away from the Hales?_ His life was now a pile of shit because his best friend had to go and fall in love with a controlling freak with a possessive streak a mile wide. He was certainly done for, and what of their friendship if Stiles ... hell, if he even got out of this alive?

Scott flopped onto the bed behind him in the room the man, Matt, he understood his name to be, had shown him to, or rather directed him into with a firm shove at his back.

++++++

"Sir?"

Gerard looked up from his paper work.

"The doctor asked for you."

Gerard pushed his tired weight up from the desk and stalked into the tomb. This whole place was morbid and smelled of death and decay. "Doc?" he said, walking into the room where Stiles lay prone on a bed, the doctor sitting beside him.

Deaton looked up with a blank stare. "It's not good, Mr. Argent. His lungs are showing signs of severe stress and these conditions are not helping, at all. He needs rest and fresh air."

"Ok, so tell me something that's actually helpful..." Gerard sneered. He hated this man, with his serene looks, unflappable attitude and precise and sometimes cryptic, speech, especially for a doctor.

"He's nowhere near ready for any kind of travel, and pumping him full of drugs will only mask any further health complications and make it impossible for the equipment to decipher the damage done," the black man stated flatly.

"Then what the hell good are you if you can't get him better? What am I paying you for?"

"Well, to be clear, you don't pay me, Mr. Argent. You pay Ms. Blake and I'm simply paying off a debt owed to Ms. Blake. You wanted a thorough assessment of the patient and that's what I've done. I can give you medication for his anxiety and panic attacks, but that won't help if he remains in these conditions. What you do with the information I've given you is up to you." The doctor stood, collecting his bags and equipment. He glanced beyond Argent to where Jennifer had entered the room. He held out a small bag to her, bowed and exited the room.

Gerard rounded on Jennifer, furious. "I told you he had to be ready to travel today, and you brought me that quack?" he bellowed.

"That quack," she responded calmly, "is the only person we could get who would deal with a situation like this and not have the gossip end up in the hells. So unless you have a death wish, Alan's the best I could do."

"I want him taken care of," he barked in the direction of Matt, standing silently in a corner.

"Don't you touch him," Jennifer all but shouted. "You told me to bring you the best I had, and that's what I did. If Alan goes missing there are certain members of Society that will stop at nothing to find out why. He's too valuable to disappear. He knows how to keep his mouth shut. Hell, his sister sits on the Council; he's done jobs for the King. Do you want Whittmore involved in this?" Her heart was beating a quick tattoo in her chest. She was scared Gerard had finally turned the bend into insanity. Kill Alan? My God, he was going to get them both shredded if he continued like this.

Gerard spun away with a growl of frustration.

"Sir?" Matt asked, a small smirk on his face as his eyes traversed Jennifer's body. She despised the slimy bastard. Yes she traded with the worse of the underground. But Matt, Matt was a bottom feeder of the lowest order and never ceased to make her skin crawl.

"Forget it," he barked. "Do you understand the Dealer will have both our heads if he's not delivered today?" Gerard glanced at his watch, showing it was just gone 11. "There's no way we can transport him like the others in his condition, and if he dies on the way we are, all of us, dead." He knew he was starting to sound panicked, but things were getting dire.

"We need to get him somewhere where he can breathe for a while, that's all. Give him his meds and ..."

"And what? How the hell do you expect to get him clear across the City and then to Heresea without anyone noticing. He's not like the others, non-descript and nobody. He's almost a fucking national legend," Gerard seethed.

"So we fake his death and blame it on the Hales. Frankly, either one will do..." It was the first suggestion she'd heard from Matt's lips that were not in relation to a direct order from Argent. ... And it proved what a complete ass he was.

"Really? And how do you propose to do that after the stunt you pulled yesterday in kidnapping him, huh?" her scornful glance danced from Matt to Gerard and back. She'd had it with these short-sighted jackasses. "If we'd gone with my plan, we could have had Peter Hale locked up by now, but you had to deviate from the plan and snatch his whore from the middle of the City, in broad daylight, with his bodyguard left behind as a witness.

"The gossip was already swirling in the hells; Jesus, it was already spreading across Society by this morning, and everyone knows Peter Hale is on the warpath. There's no way we can convincingly pin a death on him now. If I'd even tried to temper it, even with my considerable connections, questions would have been lodged at me, questions I could not afford to be associated with. So the scandal is out there, and everyone is rushing to feed information to Hale and his little lapdog bitchtress. You've fucked this up so monumentally, I'm surprised we're not already dead."

She should have expected the blow, but the blood was boiling in her veins, short circuiting her brain and cutting off the usual filter to her mouth. She only realised she'd been hit when she crashed into the side of the wall and tasted the copper in her mouth.

++++++

The call, when it came could not have surprised him more. It was a voice he had not heard in years, not since the pronouncement of Talia's death.

"You didn't hear it from me." The caller whispered in a rush before the call was disconnected. The sudden rush of adrenaline left Peter dizzy and he clutched the side of the desk to steady himself.

"Brae..." Before he could finish her name, the merc was across the room, a hand on his arm, jaw clenched tight. Derek rose from his chair in alarm.

"Where?" It was the first word she'd said other than Peter's name.

"The cemetery at Westgate. Go, I'll meet you there."

She was gone before anyone else could mutter a word. Erica was already on the phone calling Boyd and marshalling troops. She knew that the only reason Peter had not accompanied the scarred killer was because he was scared to death of slowing her down. The roar from outside seconds later as they were rushing to their own vehicles and the pinched look on Peter's face told her he was already praying the merc and her sleek, two-wheeled, multi-racer would be in time to at least save Stiles til they arrived. Even so, she sneered as Derek hauled himself into the rear of the vehicle, as they headed fast for the opposite end of the plains, just beyond the city limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually stayed up all last night into this morning finishing the whole thing. I can say that these last three chapters almost killed me, but were so much damn fun to write. A lot, and I mean a lot, is about to happen in these chapters. There's so much violence I'm gonna put up warnings, but Erica and our merc are soooo badass! This means that by next weekend this fic will be posted in its entirety as I move on to other projects and writings. 
> 
> Don't forget to tell me what you think. Comments are brain food.


	13. A Place Called Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clue they needed finally comes in, but are they in time to save Stiles or will Argent and his team disappear into the night and Deucalion exact his revenge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just enjoy. And thanks so much for sticking with me.
> 
> BTW: The violence warning remains in effect. Take care...

Braeden leaned hard on the racer as it cut across the City using the shortest routes she could find. The holomap in her helmet and the voice in her ear kept up with her every step of the way, directing the race against time toward Westgate. When the map audio alerted her to her approach to the cemetery gates, she shifted the racer into stealth mode and initiated the thermo scan of the property.

It revealed three men at the gates and dozens others scattered across the grounds and in buildings. But the grounds were massive and she would just have to make sure she didn't inadvertently kill some poor grave digger earning his honest pay. She wasn't heartless after all, just a killer for hire -- a principled killer for hire. She slowed down as she conducted scans of the buildings the holomap revealed on the premises. There were bodies inside, and she wished, for the first time that she had put Misha on standby. The man could work miracles to pluck audio surveillance almost out of thin air. He'd be able to get a handle on what was going on in those buildings with a flick of his finger. It was like he had a direct line to higher supernatural powers sometimes.

Scoping the surroundings, she pulled her racer into the woods to the rear of the cemetery. She redirected the controls from the racer to her viser and audio-synced her directives. With a few words she'd have the same level of dynamics on the simple-looking visers that she now wore, that she had had within her helmet moments before. She secured the helmet to the racer with the push of a button. Only her DNA or voice recognition signature would unlock the racer from its current position.

Now, it was time to go hunting.

++++++

Erica pressed down on the accelerator as she dodged yet another near-miss collision. The vehicle that pulled in behind them less than a minute ago kept the same reckless pace and Derek clenched the vehicle's seat in a tight grip and squinted at the road ahead, as he tried to hold his nausea in.

Glancing back, he noted that, yep, Boyd was still on their tail keeping pace. Jesus, he knew they were both bat-shit crazy the first time he'd met them both. They were such a match -- the dangerous, loud-mouth wench and the strong, silent muscle.

"Two minutes to destination," the holomap automaton announced.

Peter sent up a prayer to whomever, or whatever, might be listening that they were not too late as the cemetery came into view.

++++++

Static... all he was hearing was static. There'd been a shout through the coms, a burst of gun fire and then silence. So far no one was responding to demands to check in.

What the fuck? He'd had at least 18 men on the perimeter and he knew Jennifer, the supercilious slut, had brought more when she arrived. After she'd left to carry out Argent's bidding, the boss had laid down the law and her team had been forced to remain behind to escort Argent out of the cemetary once he was ready to leave. It seemed Argent didn't trust her not to just take her security and run. Now, he wasn't sure what the hell was going on.

Sliding his gun into his hands he eased from the vomit-scented tomb into the corridors, listening for the slightest sound, but it was all so damn quiet. He had just eeked his way around a large urn in the pathway, eyes sharp, ears sharper when something shifted in the dark.

"Daehler, what a surprise." There was no inflection, no question, just a flat statement. It was a voice he'd hoped never to hear again in his life; one he'd been warned he should try never to have hear again in his life and he swallowed thickly. He knew in that instant his life was forfeit.

He turned and looked at the dark, scarred face resembling Hades himself. It seemed the Mistress of Death had come to collect.

++++++

There was a certain satisfaction to the crack of a spinal column, the snap of a neck, and for the first time Boyd started to feel some of the tension that had been coiling in him since he was smacked on the back of the head near the bathrooms in that blasted restaurant, start to ease just a bit. The body slid from his hands onto the virtual gravestone at his feet.

He glanced around for Erica, and saw she'd also just dispatched one of Gerard's minions with extreme prejudice, and was reaching into her pocket for a ringing device. Their eyes connected in that moment and her gaze narrowed -- information, undoubtedly it was one of her contacts with information.

They'd arrived just as the cat-like figure of Braeden slid into one of the tombs on the far end of the cemetery. The men racing after her seemed frazzled, momentarily lost and confused at the sudden onslaught of people pouring in from different directions. The first thing Boyd realised was that none of the guards' coms technology worked any longer, and based on the frantic calls from the men trying to get through to whomever was on the other end at the controls, it would seem that Braeden was the cause. She'd somehow disabled their system, and theirs alone.

Two men had rushed into the tombs, while the others streamed in their direction, in depleted numbers. The bodies they could see told them the merc had already taken care of more than a few on her own before she left the rest to them. Peter didn't bother with hand to hand combat, the kind that both Erica and Boyd relished -- a silenced gun in his hand did the job and he didn't even pause in his advance on the tombs, as the others Boyd had brought protected his procession. Dashing into the tomb Peter heard a yell.

And then above ground a shot rang out and Derek fell.

Oblivious to what was happenening above, Peter stepped over the blood and body of a man with curly looking hair, along with two others dressed in guard uniforms, he moved around the broken bits of an urn and headed in the direction of voices. He prayed one was Stiles.

Rounding a corner he heard the tired words, "If I were you, I really wouldn't..." Speeding into the room ahead of him, the strong smell of sickness assaulted his nose before his eyes adjusted to the dim room and he saw Braeden standing over a kneeling, snarling, Gerard Argent.

++++++

Scott wasn't sure what was happening.

He'd heard yells, gun shots and then screams, as well as footsteps rushing pass his locked door. He didn't know whether calling out would bring him salvation or death, so he huddled in a corner and kept quiet.

The fact that everything was deathly quiet after about 20 minutes sent a shudder of fear through him. He'd heard Argent call out when the first gun shot fired. Had heard the man bellowing orders out to whom he supposed was some of the guards in the tomb, then swearing and nothing.

Suddenly he heard doors cracking back on their hinges, obviously being violently shoved or smashed opened, then intermittent bursts of gunfire, and he tried to make himself an even smaller target in the darkest corner. The only light coming in had been through a few open holes at the top of the room, but the light was sparse at best. He just prayed when they got to his door that they, whomever they were, didn't shoot first.

++++++

Jennifer hurriedly dropped another few items into the bag. She knew she was running out of time and dammit, her contact with her papers still hadn't gotten there yet.

She'd put her own plan into action a scant few days ago when she realised how far down the rabbit hole Gerard's plans had gone. She'd loved Kate, loved her with everything she possessed, but she wasn't ready to die for someone who was already dead, and certainly not for her former lover's crazy father. The man was certifiably nuts -- pass the preserve, no turning back.

She checked her digital again. It was just gone 3. Where the hell was he?

She'd done as Gerard asked. As far as she was concerned it was her last task for the man and she was done, so very done with this whole mess. Let them try to find her - Gerard, the Dealer, Peter Hale; right now she couldn't give a flying fuck, she just needed to get the hell off New Capria. But she needed him to hurry up. She paced again and reached for her phone to dial when a knock sounded on her door.

Jennifer almost dropped the device and rushed to drag open the door. Her steps skidded as she looked into the one face she didn't expect.

Erica Reyes' grin was all teeth. "Going somewhere?" she drawled as she stepped over the threshold before Jennifer could even move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you caught the "Castiel" reference. It's not really cleverly hidden or anything. I just adore the man... Anyway, as usual comments are more than welcome. Tell me what you think.
> 
> The last chapter I will post on the weekend. It's a monster...


	14. Payback Is A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the deck stacked against them, Peter and his team are taking no prisoners in a last ditch effort to save his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered not putting this up until tomorrow, but why torture you good folk any longer?
> 
> I just wanna say thanks, really, for sticking with me to the end. I wrote the last three chapters through one night and into the next morning just to get the characters out of my head and onto "paper", so to speak. It was a thrilling ride and I can't believe I actually finished this and am happy with the ending. I've added an epilogue as well to tie everything up nicely. Hope you enjoy.  
> Beware, it's a monster of a final chapter...
> 
> WARNINGS for extreme violence and death remain in effect. Take care!

Gerard spat at him. The fool actually thought spitting at him at a moment like this was a good idea. Peter thought of snapping his neck and getting it over with, but after a thorough search of the tombs and surrounding buildings turned up no Stiles, something calm settled over him.

Gerard ranted and raved, while Braeden kept him on his knees. Boyd had dragged a nearby chair for Peter to sit and it was this vantage point that he contemplated the man before him most dispassionately. He didn't think Stiles was dead, he felt, within his soul, that he would know if Stiles was dead. The possibility that stretched before him now was that Argent had turned him over to Duke, and Peter refused to allow the fear that would accompany that thought to even surface.

Stiles was alive, and Gerard would tell him where before he died.

"Boss." Boyd's voice brought him back to the present. He lifted his head, eyebrows raised in question as Boyd gave a slight tilt of his chin towards the door. He canted his head in that direction to see a pale Scott McCall standing before him.

He experienced a brief burst of rage that coloured his vision red before a hand settled on his shoulder, once again centering him in the present. He looked up at Derek, as his nephew squeezed his shoulder before quickly dropping his hand. It was the first time he realised Derek was in the room, or that his nephew appeared to have been shot.

His brows came together in a frown at the red colouring the henley Derek still wore. Derek glanced down and seemed to realise what his uncle was staring at. If he was surprised at the show of concern and the unasked question, he didn't show it. He only replied, "I'm ok. It's through and through."

Peter nodded before he turned once again to face Scott, rising from the chair he'd been perched on.

"I swear I don't know where he is. I swear. I was trying to help. I really was. It just got all so out of control," he stammered as Peter continued his approach. "He was gonna kill my family. Just like he killed yours!" Scott yelled, and Peter paused, eyes narrowing.

"And that was enough to turn your best friend over to him? A threat and you caved. You could have come to me. I would have made sure your family was safe. I would have been able to protect Stiles and you. But you gave him to my worst enemy." Peter's voice was barely above a whisper, but Scott heard every word and paled even further.

"Please, please, Mr. Hale," he tried to back pedal, but the security behind him blocked any retreat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I really...," his voice faded into a squeak as Peter grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.

++++++

"Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Awww," tut tut, "such language." Erica's grin sharpened as she shook her head at the brunette backing away from her. "Showing your origins now, aren't you?"

"You're every bit the same whore as me," Jennifer spat, "and no amount of fancy suits and high heels and sucking Peter Hale's cock will ever change what you are!"

Erica exhaled audibly, looking at Jennifer with disappointment, like she was something vile at the bottom of her expensive heels. "You see, that's what bitches like you never understand. A woman, a real woman, doesn't need to get on her knees for a man to earn his respect, to please him, to earn his friendship. A real man doesn't need you to eat his come to appreciate what you mean to him. Peter Hale is not and never has been my lover. What he is and has been is my brother, my friend, my boss.

"He's the man I would maim for, murder for and bury the bodies for and then sit and await my sentencing for," Erica stepped forward and out of her heels. "He is a man who's been hurt too many times by too many people he trusted. And you and your ilk, took his nephew, one of the few members of his family your ilk left alive after you tried to kill them the first time, and turned that nephew against him. Then when you still could not bring him down, you took his mate, put him in danger, and in doing so also put his bodyguard, the love of my life, in danger. Now you are going to tell me what you know about where Stiles Stilinski is, and you will offer that information freely, or the hurt I will bring to you, will be felt by your dead ancestors as well as the ones still to be born. Am I clear?"

. . . And then the foolish woman tried to run. Erica sighed again and dashed after her, grabbing her by the long dark tresses and yanking her off her feet.

"Now if there's one thing I don't appreciate, it's a jackass, who tries to be a badass and then flees like an ass when the shit hits the fan." She dragged the woman back across the floor by her hair, and when she started to struggle, promptly dropped a knee into her stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs and the last meal from her gut.

Tears sprung to Jennifer's eyes as her throat locked at the horroring burst of pain in her stomach. The woman truly meant to kill her. Finally she was scared. She'd been sure it would have been the Dealer or Peter who would have got this far. But no, it was a whore, just like her that was to be her end.

And less than 10 minutes later when the pain became unbearable, when she could barely see out of one swollen shut eye and began to cough up blood, she squinted at the thunderous face in front of her and raised a single, tired, trembling hand in surrender and began to gasp out everything she knew.

When she was done, tears rolling non-stop from her eyes, and rolls of snot from her nose, blood from her ears and mouth, she closed her eyes and tried to find a spot of quiet beyond her gasping, wheezing efforts to breathe. She tried to conjure up Kate's beautiful face. Tried to remember a simpler time, when they were happy.

It was her last thought before Erica snapped her neck.

++++++

"Peter!"

Derek tried to wedge his way between Scott and his uncle. The man's lips had started to turn blue. "Stop. For Stiles' sake, Stop!"

The name seemed to get through to his uncle, whose fingers fell slack, as Gerard once again raised his boisterous vitriol at Peter, and then Peter's mobile began to ring.

"I know where he is ... the Dealer, the Duke, whatever the fuck he calls himself ... he has Stiles," Erica said in a hurry. It was only in that moment that Peter realised his trusted left hand was not in the room with him. How had that happened?

"Where?"

"The Marina, and we need to hurry."

Peter turned and emptied his weapon into Gerard's face.

++++++

The race to the docks felt like it took forever, but it was in fact an even shorter distance than the ride to the cemetery.

Two of Erica's men, under Boyd's directives had stayed behind to clean up the cemetery scene. The contact team would already be on the way to the clean up. Nothing would remain of what happened there this day. Gerard's body would simply disappear from Society.

Braeden's racer roared pass and Boyd pressed on the accelerator.

++++++

"Come on now, Sleeping Beauty. Time to rise and shine."

The voice seemed to be coming from such a long way off, even though Stiles felt the heat of a body very near. A hand brushed his cheek and the accented voice returned, "That's it. Open your eyes for me, pet."

The face that came into view was as handsome as it was angular, young, with lightly tinted glasses. What he could immediately discern of the eyes behind those glasses though filled him with dread. He had no doubt this was perhaps the most evil and deadly person he'd met yet.

"Ah, there we are luv, and such beautiful eyes too."

"Who are you?"

"Awww, I'm not sure if your lover would have mentioned me before, but Deucalion, at your service," he said with a pretentious little bow. "An old, old friend of Peter's."

Stiles didn't think for one moment that that term friend meant what he would want it to mean. He got a distinct feeling his situation had just gone from bad to the worst it could possibly get, and it was confirmed when a hand slid up his leg and the man grinned, even as his eyes shined with a kind of sinister madness, "We're going to have so much fun together."

++++++

The knife made a squelching sound as it was yanked from the man's juggular and he dropped at Braeden's feet. She glanced up as Erica climbed another man like Catwoman, swung around his neck and crashed him to the ground, snapping his neck with a quick twist of her feet still wrapped around said throat. She had to give it to the woman, she had style.

Peter, Boyd and six others hurried up to where they were, hidden behind a nearby container. "Which one?"

"There," Braeden nodded to a vessel docked across the way. The problem was that there was no way to stealthily get to it. There was a wide open space between the vessel and anything near. They had to reveal themselves to get close.

Peter gazed at The Prometheus. Of course. Duke was always one for the dramatics.

"What now, boss?" Boyd asked, looking desparingly at him. He knew Peter was not leaving this dock without Stiles. He just hoped it wouldn't be with them all in body bags.

"Now I go call on a mutual friend. You need to find a way onto that ship. I don't care how. I will provide as much of a distraction as I can. He won't kill me on sight. He'll want to torture me first. Whatever happens, you get Stiles out of here."

"Boss!"

"Promise me." Erica looked him dead in the eyes and nodded.

"Good, time for a reunion," Peter said as he walked into the open, weapon dangling from his fingers raised high above his head.

++++++

"Mr. Duke, a man is approaching us," a stoute-looking soldier appeared in the doorway.

"Ummm?! Really. I wonder who it could be?" he smirked, genuine mirth in his voice. With a last regretful glance at Stiles, he shook his head. "We'll have to pick up where we left off when I return. I might even have a present for you."

With a jaunty pep to his step, the strange man headed for the door and Stiles exhaled. He had no clue what was going on, but he was good and damned tired of being used and scared out of his mind by these assholes. He'd be damned if he'd just sit back and take whatever they wanted to dish out. He'd make them sorry they took him. He bloody well would.

++++++

"Wow, Peter Hale. The Peter Hale. I must say, I am impressed. This, I did not expect and kudos to you mate, or is that a forbidden word now?" Duke chuckled as if he found himself particularly funny.

"Cut the bullshit, Duke, enough with these games. Where is he?"

"You mean your little pet? Oh, he's safe ... for now." Peter growled in the man's face, and the three guards behind him moved in closer at the sound.

"Oh come now, Peter. No need for all this hostility. We're just two old friends, having a chat before you die. Do you want your last words to be harsh grunts like some kind of animal incapable of controlling himself? Come now." Duke actually tutted at him. The bastard tutted at him.

"Oh you want to talk? You want to talk? Let's talk."

Just then another man opened the door to the room, paused briefly to give Peter a hostile look before hurrying over to Deucalion. After a few words and a few whispered back by Duke, the man glared at Peter and left again.

"Before we get to our chat, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It seems some of your people are dead, and the others have been captured trying to breach the deck of my ship. Really Peter? You brought eight men, sorry, seven men and a woman, to try to defeat my army? I don't know if I should burst into gales of laughter, pity you or be extremely, fucking insulted," Duke's face went serious for a moment.

Peter felt his throat seize up. Oh God, Erica, Boyd, Braeden ... Derek. But Duke had said eight and a woman, which means either Erica or Brae, and someone else was still out there somewhere. Maybe all was not lost.

Just as the manic man seemed about to bring brimstone and fire down on him, his jovial smile returned, baffling Peter all the more. "Not to worry, they will all soon be dead. But back to our discussion, would you like something to drink? I know you have a thing for an aged label. I have something you simply have to try... Hiram, bring our guest a drink. We'll be in the den. Make it something good and old." He behaved for all the world like a man entertaining guests at supper.

Duke led Peter from the room to another. This one was opulent, lavishly decorated and cozy. "Please, sit. We can chat here."

"Is he hurt?"

"Are you on about this mate of yours again?" Duke seemed offended he would ask. He waved a hand to one of the guards and whispered to him. The guard slipped quietly out the door.

"Now, where were we? Ah yes, our chat. You've been a pain in my ass, Peter. Pun obviously not intended," he laughed like it was the biggest joke ever. "Now I might have been willing to forego the whole 'you used my brother and left him to die' bit, but then you had to go an be difficult."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Is this about Stiles and me, because he doesn't know anything about Emett."

"THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOUR WHORE!" he yelled suddenly. Then the door opened and the voice that reached his ears almost caused his heart to jump into his mouth.

"I said let me go you bastards." Two men entered, dragging a struggling Stiles between them. One had a bloody lip and the other sporting a bruised eye. Peter smiled privately, as Stiles still struggled, issuing threat. God he loved him ... Struggling, that is, until he saw Peter and froze.

He was about to dash to his lover, when Duke went, "Ah ah ah," with a shake of his head. "Now, now. None of that lovey dovey nonsense. Touch him and I will put a bullet clean through his forehead and we'll all be done with the talking today and proceed to the fun part of the programme. Is that understood?" His gaze was firmly on Stiles, who nodded his acquiescence.

"Good, now sit like the sweet little pet you are." Duke pointed to a single seater to the left, midway between himself and Peter.

"What's this about Duke? Because I'm not convinced you've come down here after all this time to exact revenge for Emett."

"Don't you dare insinuate that I don't or didn't love my brother, you ungrateful ker."

"Cut the bullshit!" Peter gritted, losing his patience. "What do you want!"

The door opened again and two more people were shoved into the room. Peter almost breathed a sigh of relief to see Derek and Erica with guns pointed at their heads. Silent eye contact with Erica told him all he needed to know, Boyd was still out there somewhere, as was Braeden. Good.

"Ah, the crew's all here. Where shall we begin? Maybe with my good friend Derek here." Duke accepted his glass of whatever from a butler-looking man and took a sip, closing his eyes and savouring and giving a nod before another glass as put before Peter. Duke stood and progressed across the den to Derek, who looked pale and ill.

"You had one task. One simple task. To deliver a vote and you couldn't even do that." Duke said with a great measure of scorn. Swinging back to look at Peter, whose eyes were caressing Stiles and looking for any signs of abuse, "Pay attention Hale. Your little slut is fine, as I said, for now."

"But I'm disappointed in the people you have in that Hale company of yours. This one here could not follow simple instructions, had to go and fuck the whole thing up. That accountant of yours also had a task and then he tried to betray me. But don't worry, you won't find his body, his or his family's. If it's one thing I won't abide," he walked right up to Derek as he said this, "it's a snitch." Derek flinched.

"You see, everything was good until you decided, that a piece of property that had been sitting there all fine and well, no trouble to anyone, should be sold. My piece of property should be sold. How dare you!" Duke said, a look of confusion on his face.

"That was never your property," Derek gasped in obvious pain.

"Aww, the pup finds his bark at last or was that a whimper. But pay attention, if you don't want me to remove a few of your teeth now rather than later. Don't interrupt me again.

"The property was mine in all but name. Several of my associates and I were using that property for some very profitable games. Games, your pet here, will soon be intimately aware of. My list of wares to be auctioned and sampled were published once a month and then the games would ensue, and those woods came in very handy for some particularly delightful chases. You should see them scamper and run, it was all so delicious, because when they were caught, then the real fun happened, if they survived the chase.

"Our Club, was thriving, and then a notice of sale was posted, and people started snooping around, surveying, checking out the properties in the woods, asking questions, and my pool of resources was almost exposed. My associates got nervous, talked of pulling back, pulling out, as if," he scoffed. "Once a few of them were in the ground, the others soon realised their error, but it meant we still had to take care of the pesky problem of this sale."

"So you began to threaten the potential buyers, discouraging them from the property. Promised my nephew who knows what, to what, kill me?"

"Aww, no. He wouldn't have killed you. Didn't have the balls for it. We only needed you distracted, out of the way. And this bit of fluff here was doing an admirable job. But then he," he waved the glass in Derek's direction, "had to go and fuck up again when he couldn't keep it in his pants and tried to get off on the slut. Put himself once more on your radar," Duke shook his head. "It was then I realised, he could not be trusted, could not be relied upon, could no longer live."

Derek paled further if that was possible, as two men inched up on either side of him. "Don't you dare touch him. I will kill you Duke, I swear it."

Duke turned back to Peter, who was on his feet now with fire in his eyes. "So touching. After everything he's done?"

"He's family. I'm sure you remember what that is."

Duke's eyes went glacial. "You would dare to talk to me about family? You, who ..."

A chilling scream rang out and every body in the room went tense.

++++++

Braeden was calm. She was surprisingly calm as she dispatched another minion with her trusty knife. It was Boyd who was mad. He was mad as hell and only the force of the vengence he exhibited on his targets gave anything away. She pitied the fool who'd gun-butted Erica on the deck and then dragged her away.

They'd watched from their hidden point after they'd scaled the anchor and hidden on deck while the others breached by more direct route. A fitting diversion. She'd felt Boyd go still when Erica fell and she knew he was just biding his time til he could get his hands on the culprit.

They cut through Duke's "army" like a hot knife in butter, each guarding the other's back. She was used to fighting alone, but she had to admire the skill of the resources Peter gathered around him, and the two, Boyd and Erica, were more than impressive with their skill sets. She'd have to see if she could hire them out, if Peter would allow.

"Now would be a good time to call your boss," she whispered to the man whose throat she squeezed in her fist.

++++++

Peter used the brief distraction to lunge for Duke, who caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and moved to defend. Erica, with almost a telepathic understanding of her boss and friend, stuck out at the nearest guard, shoving his weapon skyward and shattering his knee with a well-timed, well-placed kick, watching him screaming to the floor.

Derek's elbow connected with the chin of the other guard with a resounding crack, knocking the man back as he pounced too. Duke and Peter rolled across the carpet, upending tables, glasses, chairs in their tussle. A sharp eyed and terrified Stiles standing staring as the scene before him when a glint caught his eye as Duke reached under the overturned table and used his momentum to pull a long, slender sword from its underside. Ever prepared.

It was then that Stiles' brain kicked into gear. He glanced quickly over to see Erica and Derek struggling to take care of two more guards who had burst through the doors, which left only him to save Peter from this dangerous animal. So he did the only thing he could think of -- grabbed the nearest gun that had been disarmed from one of the guards, raised it to the roof and fired a few rounds. The room went still and he levelled the gun at Duke.

"Drop it and let go of him."

Peter kicked Duke out of the way, grabbing the sword the man had seconds earlier been holding. Keeping out of Stiles' way, Peter edged around his lover, body aching, cuts bleeding, but as he reached out and touched his mate, something in him uncurled. Stiles was safe, alive. "Erica?"

His left hand came forward and relieved the gun from Stiles, hearding one of the last remaining guards over by his boss, who was getting to his feet, jaw clenched with fury. It was then that Peter pulled Stiles into his arms, squeezing tight. Erica standing sentry.

"You're ok? Thank God, you're ok."

Just then Braeden and Boyd burst through the doors, and Duke used the brief moment of distraction to lunge for Erica. She was quick but not quick enough and once again, Boyd watched his woman fall. An inhuman scream bellowed from his oft silent lips, but before he could even move, Duke grunted. Then he stilled, a look of disbelief on his face.

Duke looked down. He couldn't believe it. No it couldn't be. Peter had embedded his own sword in the depths of his gut. And just for good measure, Peter grabbed him by the shoulders, dragged him upright and twisted. The burst of pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He opened his lips to cry out but a gush of blood erupted. He was going to choke on his own blood.

He grasped Peter's arm tight as he could and looked the man in his eyes. The ones that stared back at him were cold, merciless, deadly. And again the sword twisted before Peter suddenly dragged it free and stepped away.

He would watch the life fade from Duke's eyes. The gargling was garish, the blood crimson, but he refused to look away til there was no life left. He would see to this man's dismemberment himself and would be there for disposal after. Then he would set his sights on this Club. He would destroy every last one of them, for Stiles, for Tannis, for all the others whose names he did not know and might not ever. These people saw fit to trade the lives of others for their own amusement and he would watch them all burn. He would bring their house of cards tumbling down and then his payback would be complete.

"Peter?" The voice that reached out to him was tentative. Stiles took a wary step forward, a question on his face, in his eyes. Peter dropped the sword, grabbed the boy to him and kissed him, with every inch of pent up emotion he had been holding onto these past couple days, heedless of the bloody hand print he left on Stiles' top.

"You can never leave me like that again."

"I won't," Stiles said into his chest. Turning his head he looked over at Derek, surprised to find the man here, fighting alongside Peter for him, and obviously wounded in the process.

Derek stood still, watching the lovers' embrace. It was then that he felt the weight of what he'd done. What he'd almost succeeded in doing, and shame and grief hit him at the same time. As if he knew where his thoughts had gone, Peter shook his head at him. "Not now. Save it for later. They'll be time enough for that later."  
  
++++++

**Epilogue**

_**Four-and-a-half months later** _

"But I don't understand why. What will you do?" Laura was confused, and if she'd admit to herself, a little scared. "What's so important on Heresea?"

"I just need a break Laura. Besides, now that we aren't selling the property there, it seems fitting that we pay a little more attention to it. Look I talked this over with Peter and we agreed it's an insightful move on our part, this expansion project," Derek said, continuing to pack and directing one of his hired hands about the removal of a box he'd already sealed.

"Since when do you and Peter agree on anything? And who's going to run the company now, with Peter going off on this secret getaway with Stiles and you going off to another planet?"

"You will love?" Peter stepped into the room.

Laura choked on air. "What?"

"You know that company almost as intimately as I do. One of these days you all will have to take over. I can't run it forever. What do you think I've been training you for?"

"But... but...," she was at a loss.

"Now run along and check on my mate will you. He disappeared with Cora into the back somewhere and I don't trust those two together. Too much mischief and havoc they could wreck." He smiled at his niece.

"You left them alone together? You know what happened the last time you did that...," she rushed off to check on her beloved werecat, memory fresh about what happened to Missy not so long ago when Cora and Stiles wanted to test a theory about hair loss -- Derek's packing and Peter's vacation momentarily forgotten.

Silence descended between the two, and Peter watched him quietly pack.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me, you know," Derek said softly, not looking up from his task at hand.

"Oh I don't. You're lucky I didn't kill you for what you did. How could you have allowed your pride to take things so far, Derek? The things you did . . . I don't even recognise that person."

Derek swallowed. "Neither do I." He didn't realise he was crying til Peter turned him into his arms. They clung to each other -- just like they used to.

"You could stay and try to sort your head out; here, amongst family."

"I couldn't do that to you, to Stiles," he pulled away, wiping his face. "He still has a moment of panic everytime he looks at me. He tries to hide it, but I know I still scare him. Hell I scare myself sometimes. There's someone, on Heresea that I'll be talking to. I've got some issues to deal with and I can't do it here."

"You know you can still call, whatever you need."

"Yeah. You've already done more than I should have any reason to expect."

Peter sighed. "I'll leave you to pack. Have a safe trip and call when you reach."

"I will . . . and Peter?" He looked his uncle in the eye. "I'm sorry."

With a curt nod, Peter turned away. He could forgive him, eventually, he didn't know how long it would take to forget though.

He found Stiles standing staring out at the City skyline. Tension in his shoulders, hands figeting in front of him. It was a tension that refused to leave him, weeks after everything that had happened. Weeks after the ultimate betrayal by his best friend. It was one of the reasons Peter needed to get them away from the City for a while, for however long it took.

"Stiles," he said his name softly as he move up on his left side to circle his arms around his waist in clear sight. He could no longer ease up on his partner from behind. The first time he did Stiles had a roaring panic attack. They were still dealing with the repercussions of his ordeal. The only person he was completely at ease around, surprisingly, was Cora, and they'd already made plans for her to visit them on their vacay. It would take time before Peter could hold him without a moment of tension between them, kiss him without a flicker of fear in his breath, and sleep or make love to him without the lights on.

Stiles' pleas were the only reason Scott McCall had not joined so many others in eternity or damnation, depending on one's beliefs. Despite the fact that they likely would never speak again, Stiles could not bear the thought of Peter getting rid of him. It was the one thing on which he would not budge and the one request Peter granted without question. He had no idea what was going through Stiles' mind about it, but he knew his lover was in pain. His interactions with Lydia were stilted and he had yet to return to dancing. Peter knew it would kill him to have to give it up forever, but his concentration was shot, his steps less than graceful.

They had quite a road ahead of them. He brushed gentle lips across his temple and watched as some of the stiffness eased out of Stiles' neck and shoulders. He watched him sink into his arms with a small sigh and the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"I love you, Peter." It was the one thing that hadn't changed. He prayed it never would.

"I love you too. Forever."

+++THE END+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this didn't turn out to be the fic you expected, I'm sorry; if it was and you enjoyed it, my pleasure; if you're undecided, that's ok. I'm working on something else that's slower paced, at least so far (you know how it goes), but I want to actually finish that before I put it up. Chances are it will be a one chapter complete write. So see you again soon.


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